School Days
by Faran1078
Summary: Boone copes with being a single father as Andrew starts school. The final chapter is up.
1. Chapter 1

Boone was standing at the sink, scrubbing potatoes for supper, Andrew sitting at the kitchen table behind him, reading a book.

"Boone?" the boy asked.

"Yeah?" He responded with a sigh, the kid had been nothing but questions since he sat down. Boone assumed that all five year olds must have a cord in their backs with a ring attached, and every time you pulled it they asked a different question. The only problem was, he didn't remember pulling the string.

"What's this word?" He asked looking at it, puzzled.

Boone closed his eyes and focused, "Copyright."

"Oh, okay," he responded, brightly.

Boone took a couple more swipes at the potato; then stopped. 'Wait…..that can't be right…copyright?' he thought. What the hell was the kid reading? He'd given him a Paddington Bear book.

He set what he was working on, on the bottom of the sink, and turned, crossing the room to the table as he dried his hands on the towel he'd pulled through one of his belt loops. "What are you reading there, bud?"

"The book you gave me." Andrew smiled up at him.

Boone looked over his shoulder; he had the book open to the flyleaf with all the registration information. "That's not part of the book."

"Sure it is," Andrew tugged on the page, showing his dad that it was firmly bound into the spine.

"Yeah, it is," he ran his hand, wearily, over his face, "I mean it's not part of the story."

"That's not what you said." He pointed out, being extremely literal, Boone thought.

"No, I know it's not," he flipped the pages to the beginning of the chapter, "Start here, okay?"

"Kay, Boone." He bent his head over the book again.

Boone went back to scrubbing potatoes.

"Boone?"

Jesus, he thought, maybe he could change his name to Steve, or Scott, or Sceve, it really didn't matter, just so long as it wasn't Boone any longer, he was getting so tired of hearing it.

"Yeah?"

Boone heard the kitchen door open.

"Can we look at the pictures after dinner?" Andrew sounded a little hesitant.

Boone found his hands clenching, his jaw tightening. The cycle was starting again; it always began with 'Can we look at the pictures?' and ended with 'Why did Shan leave?' He took a shuddering breath, preparing to answer, when suddenly Heather spoke up. "I'll look at the pictures with you if you want Andrew, if your dad says it's okay."

He turned from the sink, ready to say yes, begging himself to say yes, to spare himself the pain, but suddenly realizing that it would be wrong. It was a family thing, the boy wanted to share memories with him that simply weren't Heather's.

"Thanks, but we'll have fun with it, won't we?" He forced cheerfulness into his voice, and pasted a false smile on his face.

"Kay, Boone." The boy repeated.

He turned back to the sink and braced his arms against the edge, furrowing his brow, trying to regain a bit of himself.

He felt Heather touch his shoulder, "You don't have to do this, Boone. I'll gladly look at the pictures with him." She said quietly.

He took a deep breath, "No," he breathed deeply again, and looked up at her, "I'll do it. Can you finish up with these, and put the chicken in the oven in half an hour?"

Heather was about to say yes, but hesitated, if he was just going to up to his room and brood, she'd rather have him scrubbing root vegetables.

"What are you going to do instead?" she asked.

"I thought I'd go for a swim." When she looked up, concerned, he clarified, "In the pool, not the lake, I know you think I'm going to just swim off into the sunset, and drown myself, if I go in the lake."

"I'm going to check on you in an hour." She warned him.

"Thanks _mom_." Boone answered sarcastically, rolling his eyes; then nodded at her in real thanks.

The pool had become his closest friend; he spent hours in it, swimming against the current, pushing himself harder and harder. He already had it set to its' highest maximum flow rate. The doctors had encouraged his exercise, and had told the Marshall's that they should be completely behind any physical exertion that he seemed interested in. The natural endorphin high produced by exercise, far preferable to the chemically elevated mood that his meds produced.

He headed out the back door to the gym, passing by the table to ruffle Andrew's hair, and telling him he'd be back soon.

After changing into swim trunks, he slid into the water, leaning into the current as it increased in strength, digging his arms into the water, his feet kicking out behind him, just below the surface of the water, easily falling into a rhythm.

The hour passed by without him even being conscious of it, so he was startled when the timer slowed and then stopped the current, almost crashing into the forward end of the unit as his arms kept churning at the water.

He'd just climbed out of the pool, and had his back to the door when Heather entered.

"Boone?" he turned quickly, almost slipping on the wet tiles of the floor, his arms came up to cover himself, the silver of his wedding ring catching the light and reflecting it for a minute. She wished he'd take it off, but he _was_ still legally married, even if Shannon _had_ been gone for just over two years. She supposed that it was probably the smallest of the reminders of the girl that he was surrounded with every day anyway, stilling living in the same house they'd shared, sleeping in the same bed, and of course, raising their son.

She saw how painfully thin he was, even given his meagre attempt at hiding himself from her. Oh, Boone, she shook her head as he grabbed for the towel draped over the edge of the pool and pulled it around himself.

"I'm okay, just getting out." He said.

"I see that. Dinner's almost ready; you've got five to have a shower." Heather informed him.

Boone nodded, then started to turn to go into the locker room.

"Wait." He turned back.

"You need to promise me that you'll eat something at dinner," He looked down and off to the right, not meeting her gaze. "I'm serious Boone. It's not just for you, it's for Andrew, he worries about you, and you're his role model. If he sees you not eating again, you're just going to upset him, and then _he_ won't eat either."

He knew she was right, but other than cooking it, food held no interest for him at all. He brought his head up, nodding, "I'll eat."

"You worried about him starting school tomorrow?" Heather started a different subject.

'Well there's the whole 'he's growing up' thing going on, and I'll miss having him around all day, but I'm most worried that he'll slip up somehow, and someone will find out what he can do. I've got a Stephen Kings' Fire Starter kind of scenario going on in my head; I keep picturing him being taken from me and put in some government compound where they can study him. It's paranoid, I know," Boone shrugged and breathed a bitter laugh, "but why shouldn't I add paranoia to my list of problems."

"He'll be fine," Heather assured him. "I heard you explain it all to him, how it would be like stealing. He's got a very grounded moral compass, he gets that from you I'm sure." She knew all about Shannon's cons. "He won't slip up; no-one will find out he can read minds."

"I hope you're right," he wished.

After dinner, the two of them settled on the couch, the photo album in Boone's lap, he'd done what he'd promised Heather, and had finished all the food on his plate, feeling more like a five year old than Andrew did, at the accomplishment. "Do I get dessert?" He'd asked with a bit of a smile.

He took a deep breath and opened the front cover, revealing Shannon's smiling face in one of their wedding photos. He glanced down at Andrew, the boy was looking up at him, obvious concern on his face, he reached a small hand out and patted Boone's knee. "I really want to see the pictures, sorry Boone."

"It's good, bud. I'm alright." He was so sensitive to Boone's moods; sometimes it caught his dad off guard. "Okay, so here's Shan and I at our wedding…" he started, telling a little story about each picture as they paged through the book. He actually found himself smiling a bit and relaxing as he recounted the happy memories, all too aware, however, of the crushing depression he'd suffer through later, alone in bed, as he sobbed into Shannon's pillow, trying to muffle the sounds.

"Thanks, Boone," Andrew said as Boone closed the book on the last picture, the one of them, backstage, at a Driveshaft concert.

"No problem, it's nice to remember, I wish _you_ could remember her, she's pretty special." He ruffled Andrew's hair.

"I remember her through you; you've got pictures in your head, more than are in the book, but from the same times. She's pretty," he smiled.

"Yeah, she's beautiful." Boone paused for a minute, reflecting. "Okay, bed time, school tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Boone came downstairs the next morning to find Heather in the kitchen. She turned at the sound of him on the stairs. He looked awful, she thought, his face was a little puffy, and he appeared, if anything, even more tired that when he'd gone to bed the night before.

After they greeted each other, she asked, "You not sleep well last night, dear?"

He shrugged, "Same as usual, I guess, why?"

"Because you look a little worn." She answered.

"Jeeze, thanks for that, because I was just about to say that I feel pretty good," he responded in a tone that was a mix of sarcasm and wounded pride.

"So you were going to lie to me, then?" She couldn't help but smile as he attempted a bit of humour.

"Well I was thinking about it more in light of the power of positive thinking, but since you put it like _that_…." Boone rolled his eyes; then smiled a bit of a lopsided half grin at her.

She just shook her head at him, smiling back, and handed him his tea.

He took a sip and put the mug on the table. "Andrew should be right behind me, if he's not down in five minutes yell up for him, please. I've got something I need to talk to Tom about."

She sent him on his way to the store, with a plate of toast for her husband and a coffee.

When he got back, Andrew was seated at the table, spooning up some yoghurt and granola, a half eaten orange on a plate beside the bowl. He had a puzzle book open on the tabletop, and was busily filling in some boxes on the page. Boone had just bought him the book yesterday, taking care to pick one at a more advanced level than the last one he'd brought home, Andrew had whined that it was 'for babies' before filling in every page in under an hour. Boone had actually been quite surprised that he'd gotten away with giving him the Padding Bear book yesterday. Andrew had already progressed a fair bit past its' juvenile content, Boone had just grabbed at the first book on the pile a desperate attempt to keep the boy occupied. So far the puzzle book seemed to be passing muster.

"Yeah Boone, this one's okay." Andrew smiled up at him happily.

Boone's heart sank a bit as Andrew answered a question he hadn't even asked. Please let him not screw up today, he wished. "Good to hear that bud."

After breakfast he went to grab his keys off the board, his hand hovering a bit, "Bike or car?" he asked his son.

"Bike!" Andrew responded, predictably.

He looked down at the boy; he was so obviously excited. Boone wished Shannon could be there, sharing the milestone day in their son's life. But then, she'd abrogated that right when she'd chosen to leave them, still it gave him an idea. "Hang tight for a minute, okay bud?"

"Kay, Boone." He responded.

He was back in a minute with the camera, wanting to capture the moment.

Andrew frowned a bit in puzzlement, "Why're you going to take my picture?"

"Well, just think about the pictures we looked at last night. What if your mom and I hadn't taken them? This is kind of a special day; I think we'd like to have a picture of it." Boone gave the boy a logical answer, privately thinking that if Shan ever came back, he wanted her to be able to see what she missed, not in a 'throw it in you face kind of way', that just wasn't him, he didn't have a vindictive bone in his body, even given what she'd put him through. No, he meant it more in a warm thoughtful 'I captured this moment for you to enjoy' way.

"Kay, Boone," he smiled while Boone snapped the picture.

At the school Boone parked the bike at the curb and waited on the seat while Andrew got off, grabbing fists full of Boone's leather jacket to help himself down. He undid the bungee cords securing the boys' backpack to the small luggage rack behind the seat rest and headed for the front door. Checking the easel positioned there, he made a mental note of Andrew's homeroom and they entered the building.

Pamela stood at the classroom door, her stomach full of butterflies. She always got butterflies on the first day of school, but they were magnified this year. This was a new job, a new school, she'd only just moved into her apartment the week before, so everything was new to her, and just a little bit intimidating. Over half her class of fifteen had already arrived, it was a small school in a small town; something she was really looking forward to, being one of those teachers who actually _cared_ about her students. And from the looks of it, another one was just about to arrive. She assessed the lean brown haired man as he approached with the blonde boy. She took in his faded jeans, worn through in a few places, the scuffed leather jacket that had obviously seen better days; he had his sunglasses suspended from the slightly frayed neck of his Grateful Dead t-shirt. She wondered briefly at the leather jacket, out of place on a warm California September day, but remembered hearing the sound of a motorcycle just a few minutes before. The boy was dressed in what were obviously new clothes, nothing fancy, probably your standard Wal-mart issue, but she could tell they'd been selected with care.

The pair came to a stop in front of her, the man looking a little hesitant. "I'm looking for room 112, Pamela Phillips?"

"I'm Miss Phillips." She smiled warmly, and held out her hand.

"Oh, uh, Boone…Boone Carlyle," he stammered a bit, "this is my son, Andrew," he finished, reaching out to take her hand.

"Mr. Carlyle," she nodded in acknowledgement, shaking the proffered hand, and smiled down at the boy, "Hi Andrew."

"Hi, are you going to be my teacher?" He returned her smile just as warmly. He was going to be a heartbreaker when he grew up, she thought, it only made sense, after all his father certainly wasn't hard on the eyes.

"Yes, I am," she checked the clipboard she was holding. "I see here that you're the only one listed as authorized to pick Andrew up after school. Is there anyone else you want to add?"

"We share a house with an older couple, I might have to send one of them if I get tied up, I guess." He shrugged.

So he shares a house, she mused, and he'd made no mention of a Mrs. Carlyle, though she noted that he was wearing a wedding ring. A single father, not able to afford a place on his own, widowed, she guessed, divorced seemed a little farfetched given his looks and obvious shyness. It also explained the motorcycle, they were so much less expensive to buy, and run, than a car. She pressed her speculation about him a little father guessing that if he could drop the boy off at nine and pick him up at four, he was either self employed, had a very understanding boss, or was unemployed, though she pretty much discounted the last one, he didn't look like the lay about type. Maybe he was a grounds keeper for one of the rich folks who owned vacation property in the area.

She added Tom and Heather's names to the records as he provided them.

He squatted down beside the boy. "Got to go, bud. I'll see you at four. You have a great day."

"Kay, Boone," Andrew responded with his latest mantra, throwing his arms around his neck and hugging him.

Interesting, he calls his father by his first name, Pamela reflected. She hoped the familiarity wasn't an indication that he was going to have a problem with authority.

Boone turned and headed down the corridor as she ushered Andrew into the classroom.

The morning was a little unorganized, there'd been introductions and just generally getting to know one another. She'd been teaching for a few years and knew how to assert herself over her students. The first day was all about establishing rules and boundaries, while still appearing friendly and approachable.

By the time lunch hour arrived, the kids were all getting a little distracted and antsy. Andrew, she'd noticed, had lost interest less than half way through the morning. He was sitting by himself, now, at a table separate from the rest, a sandwich in his hand and a book open on the table in front of him.

"Hey," she greeted. He looked up, smiling politely. "Your sandwich looks really good, what have you got?"

He held it up at eye level and lifted the top bread slice. "Fish and sprouts…grouper, I think Boone said."

"Sounds delicious," she responded, while thinking what a strange combination that was to send for a five year olds' lunch, but then again, Andrew didn't seem to have a problem with it. "Looks like homemade bread."

"Boone made it. Boone makes everything. He says store bought isn't good for you." He responded ingenuously.

"Well, you're very lucky to have someone make homemade bread for you; I wish I was that lucky. Homemade bread's pretty special." She answered, sincerely. "Why aren't you sitting with the others?" She got to the real reason she'd come over.

"I'm reading. What's a satchel?" He frowned in puzzlement.

"What?" she didn't understand where the question was coming from.

He bent over the book; "It says that Frank and Joe found the statue in a satchel in the closet." He looked back up at her. "Is it some kind of suitcase?"

Her eyes widened a bit, "Andrew," she started hesitantly, "what are you reading?"

He closed the book and read the cover, "Hardy Boys. I got it from the shelf over there." He suddenly looked a bit worried. "I should have asked first, shouldn't I? I'm sorry, I'll put it back."

"No, no, it's fine. All the books in this room are for you to use." No wonder he'd looked bored by the time the first hour past. He settled back into the chair, seemingly satisfied, and paged through the book, finding his place again. He took another bite of sandwich. "You normally read Hardy Boys?"

"Well, yesterday Boone gave me Paddington Bear, but that's for babies. My favourite book is Watership Down, Boone have me his copy. He taught me to read, he went to university." He finished proudly.

"What's nine times nine." She asked him, already expecting the right answer.

"Eighty-one." He responded promptly. "Boone taught me math too," he beamed, his hero worship of his father, obvious.

"And four times five plus three?" she threw in something a bit more complicated.

"Twenty-three," he seemed to think for a minute. "That's one of the numbers, twenty-three." He looked at her as if expecting a response.

She frowned, not having any idea what he was talking about. "The numbers?"

"Yeah" he nodded, "You know; four, eight, fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three, forty-two?"

"Oh, of course, _the_ numbers," she acted like she was aware of that particular sequence, assuming that perhaps they had some kind of significance to his father.

He nodded, happily, and waited for her to tell him it was alright to go back to his book.

Good Lord, she thought, she was _definitely_ going to have to have a word with Mr. Carlyle when he arrived after school.


	3. Chapter 3

The school bell rang just as Boone pulled the door open, pleased that he'd timed that so perfectly. He was quickly surrounded by a seething mass of children as he headed to Andrews' classroom. Sticking his head in the open door, a bit slowly, not sure what the protocol was here, he saw most of the kids milling around the back of the room, Andrew among them, they were stuffing their things into various backpacks and school bags, a few had finished and were sitting at their desks, obviously waiting for their rides.

Andrew was looking back towards the door at him, he'd felt him the minute he'd entered the building and had been watching for him, he shouldered his backpack and headed for Boone. The motion caught the teachers' attention.

"_Mister_ Carlyle." She called. It sounded like he was in trouble, but couldn't figure out how that could possibly be. "I'd like a word with you, please." She continued, the tone of unquestioned authority in her voice, urging his feet automatically up the aisle. At the age of twenty-eight was he really being called to the front of the class, like a disobedient school boy?

He shot a look at Andrew, 'You know what this is about?' he asked him silently.

The boy shook his head and shrugged, 'No.'

He reached her desk, and stood in front of it, at this point still mystified, more than worried. "Yes?" He bit off the ma'am that had been about to follow; after all she wasn't _his_ teacher.

Pamela breathed an annoyed sigh, and shook her head at him slightly. "You should have told me," she scolded.

Boone's heart stopped beating for a second, o_h fuck, ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck…_ he struggled to maintain a somewhat neutral appearance. How had she found out so quickly that his son could read minds? It was the kids' first day, for fuck sakes, Jesus what had Andrew done to give himself away? He couldn't just blurt out for her to keep it a secret, that'd be an invitation to disaster. Maybe he was wrong, maybe she wanted to talk to him about something else, yeah, and maybe pigs could fly. He released the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "Told you what?" he asked innocently, fearing her next words.

"Boone?" Andrew appeared at his side. "Are you okay?" He'd caught the flash of panic from his father immediately, and had become instantly worried about him.

"I'm fine, Andrew," He assured him, falsely, "Miss Phillips and I are just having a conversation."

Pamela looked at the boy; he was peering at Boone and frowning in concern, she wondered what had brought it on, and why he'd become concerned at all. Then she reconsidered, perhaps it was because his father was the only parent so far with whom she'd requested a meeting.

"Are you sure?" He seemed unwilling to take his fathers' word for it.

"I'm sure, bud." He reassured him again. "You go sit down, I won't be long." At least I hope I won't, Boone thought to himself; although this could really go either way.

Andrew headed back to his seat, glancing over his shoulder at Boone a few times, looking like he was assessing him somehow. Pamela shifted her gaze between the two of them, trying to figure out what was going on. It seemed more than just a case of an insecure student.

Boone swallowed hard and repeated his question.

She refocused on him. "That he's so advanced with reading, writing and math. He's obviously of much more than average intelligence. If I'd known that, it certainly would have made my job a lot easier."

Boone figured you could have knocked him over with a feather; he stared at her dumbfounded, caught so totally off guard by how wrong his assumption had been. He reminded himself that he'd better watch out for Pot Belly's with wings when they went outside.

Pamela stared up at the man, his eyes were wide; his mouth hanging open; he looked stunned. She found herself getting lost in his amazing grey eyes for a minute, before wondering why her answer had produced such an unexpected response from him. Though the news might have been somewhat unexpected, he looked like he'd just been told the boy had a fatal illness, or that he'd just won the lottery. "Mr. Carlyle?" she prompted. He blinked a few times, and seemed to come back to himself.

He tried desperately to adjust his thinking and felt his shoulders relax. "Sorry, I didn't even think of saying anything." He immediately apologized, before the import of what she'd said hit him. "Wait? He's advanced? You said he's advanced?" He was surprised all over again.

Pamela nodded, quirking an eyebrow and trying unsuccessfully to keep a bit of a grin off her face, starting to find his range of emotions and reactions more than just slightly amusing.

"I just let him progress at his own pace. When he wanted to learn more I just taught him. I just figured it was normal." Boone couldn't remember where he'd been at with the basics when he'd started school; he only knew he'd graduated from university quite a few years earlier than was usually expected, though Shannon had barely scraped through high school. He wondered if it was the island influence again, or if Andrew just came by his intellect naturally. Of course he couldn't discount that part of it could easily be attributed to the fact that the kid pretty much lived in Boone's own head.

She had to chuckle at that, and patiently explained that a lot of the other kids in her class still needed to be taught how to print their own names. "You were right to encourage him. I wish more parents took such an active role in their children's education."

"Thanks," he was still trying to absorb the startling revelation, feeling quite a swell of pride. "So, we're done here?"

"Well, no, not really." He really was amusing her, how could be possibly think they were done, when they hadn't even started? "We need to decide how to proceed. I think you should seriously consider letting us advance him to a higher grade," she encouraged.

"No," Boone said, quickly.

"Mr. Carlyle, he'll only be bored in my class," she explained, patiently. "What if he gets turned off of school, because he's not learning anything? It could affect his whole future."

Boone paused for a second, staring at the floor, trying to sort out his thoughts. This had all come completely out of left field at him, and now he was being asked to make a major decision. He couldn't ignore the fact that for some reason his gut instinct had made him blurt out 'no,' and he needed to understand why.

Pamela waited while he mulled things over in his head. From his reaction, it was obvious that this was breaking news to him, she was sure that he was still trying to come to grips with it. Sure, it was good news, but even good news took a while to process. "Look, you don't need to make the decision right this minute, I'm not trying to pressure you, not right this second, but you have to know that something needs to be done, and soon."

Boone raised his head, and nodded to himself, he'd worked it out. "When I came in, all the kids, well…most of the kids, were all together at the back. I couldn't help but notice that Andrew was the smallest one. You move him up, he's going to be even shorter than everyone else."

She opened her mouth to protest that he'd use height as a reason to hold the boy back.

He held up his hand to stop her. "I know that's a lame excuse, just wait, I'm getting to my point." He paused again, "School….school's not just about acquiring facts and learning how to apply them…it's about learning social skills too. I take him to the park, as often as I can, so he can play with kids his own age. But, it's just not often enough; there's only me and I simply don't have the time, I'm a bad father, I know." He hung his head for a second in shame.

Pamela privately disagreed, from what little she'd seen he was actually an excellent father, and she thought Andrew was pretty lucky. Sure it must be hard for him, with only one parent, but the one he'd ended up with was certainly stellar. She wondered again about the boys' mother.

Boone continued, "So he's grown up almost exclusively in the company of adults, I've been concerned about that. He needs to socialize with kids his own age. Now that you've told me how smart he is, I don't want him to become some isolated geek. I'm picturing him with a pocket protector and a piece of tape on the bridge of his glasses." He trotted out the old stereotype. "Can't we just work something out?" There was a note of pleading in his voice. "Maybe split his classes, so he can get the mental stimulation, but still spend time here?"

She started to answer him when Andrew appeared at his elbow again, waiting quietly to be acknowledged, she fell silent after only a few words.

"Hey," Boone looked down at him, his thoughts still mostly on the conversation.

"I'm hungry, Boone," he informed his father.

"Yeah, right, of course you are, I _knew_ that." Boone muttered the last mostly to himself as he patted at his jacket, frowning as he looked for something, finally pulling a plastic baggie out of his breast pocket and handing it to Andrew. It appeared to Pamela to be a selection of dried fruits.

Andrew held the bag up in front of him, examining the contents, when he saw a few pieces in a familiar shape he looked up grinning appreciatively.

Boone had bought the dehydrator several years prior; wary of the stuff you could buy at the store, and the limited range of products. He used it constantly, and figured the thing had paid for itself several times over. The unexpected added benefit was that it allowed him to cater to Andrew's more sophisticated taste for exotic fruit.

He acknowledged the grin, "Yeah, I put the star fruit in it again this time, I know it's your favourite, and bud, good boy for not interrupting," he added.

As Andrew beamed at the compliment, Pamela found herself further impressed by the man, how he could think he wasn't a good father, she couldn't quite grasp.

With a nod of his head to the side, Boone indicated that the boy should go back to his seat. "Thanks, Boone," Andrew said, both for the fruit and the words, and headed back.

He looked back at her waiting for her to continue.

"Split classes?" She echoed his suggestion as he nodded. "You know they don't normally do that until high school, right?" She asked as he nodded again. She had a sudden insight, "They did that with you, didn't they?"

He lowered his head shyly, and nodded again. "Yes," he admitted quietly, not wanting to appear to be boasting.

She suddenly wanted very much to please him, he'd touched her somehow, his humility, his love for his son, the underlying current of melancholy in him, which she automatically attributed to the widowed state she'd assumed for him. She refused to acknowledge that she was undeniably attracted to him. "We'll work something out," Pamela said, decisively. "I'll talk to my colleagues, and the principal, and we'll make this work."

Boone raised his head and smiled at her in appreciation. He had a gorgeous smile, she noted, all sincere and open; it made him look very boyish and appealing. Oh, my god, I did _not_ just think that about one of my children's parents, she mentally berated herself, quickly looking away from him.

As he thanked her, she was already planning ahead. She'd have to talk to Barry, the grade two teacher, and probably Chelsea in grade three, as well as the principal, Mr. Thompson, and the five of them would undoubtedly have to meet to come up with a game plan. She was excited, she'd never had a gifted student before, it kind of fired her up a bit, and reminded her why she'd become a teacher in the first place.

Pamela shook Boone's hand and bid him a good afternoon, watching thoughtfully after him as he paused just before Andrew's desk so the child could fall in before him, and the two of them headed out of the room.

In her apartment, in Barcelona, Shannon was perched on the window seat, her forehead resting against the glass. She'd been sitting there since early evening, thinking, wishing, hoping, but mostly regretting, watching as night slowly blanketed the city. She may have been on the other side of the world, by her own choice, but she thought about her one true love and their son every day, so the significance of the date hadn't escaped her. She knew she wasn't ready to go back yet, and wasn't sure if he'd take her even if she was, or even _when_ she was, knowing full well that her return was inevitable. She breathed a bitter laugh, of course he'd take her back, he couldn't help himself, she bit back a sob, knowing that he was so much better than she deserved.

In a particularly school girl inspired moment, she lifted her forehead off the glass and breathed through her mouth onto it, forming a layer of mist. Reaching up with a forefinger she traced 'S&B 4ever' then drew a heart around it, and added an arrow. The tears threatened again.

The bedroom door opened, "Shannon, we must go now. We might not get in if we don't." An accented male voice sounded behind her.

She quickly wiped her hand across the glass, eradicating what she'd written. She unfolded her long legs and pasted a smile on her face as she stood and turned, "Miguel, don't be ridiculous. Of course we'll get in. Who could resist me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Reaching the bike Boone held his hand out for Andrews' backpack, so he could strap it down, the boy hesitated however.

Boone frowned at him questioningly.

"You thought I told," Andrew accused him.

"No bud, that's not it," he used his softest tone, to minimize the impact of the contradiction, immediately knowing what Andrew was referring to. "I just thought that you'd done something without meaning to, and she'd figured it out somehow, that's all."

"I didn't!" The child seemed near tears suddenly. "You told me about stealing! I didn't, Boone, I didn't!"

Boone tried his best to calm Andrew down, crouching and pulling his son in to his arms. "Shhhh," he held him and rocked him gently.

"All day, I only read you, I promise!" His small body shook as Boone cradled him.

They'd had a heart to heart before school began, Boone not only explaining that reading peoples' minds was like stealing their thoughts, which was worse than stealing their belongings, but that if he _did_ steal their thoughts, and people found out, then they'd all know that he was a thief, and did he really want everyone to believe that? He'd have to face them everyday, knowing that they thought they couldn't trust him. He'd spent some time trying to come up with a logical explanation for the boy, and had been relieved, and a little pleased with himself, that he'd come up with something that could logically be explained to a five year old. He'd successfully petitioned for home schooling for Andrews' kindergarten year, knowing that there was no way he'd feel the slightest bit confident about letting a four –year-old Andrew out of his sight, with his abilities, even for a half day.

"I know you did, bud. I'm sorry, I was wrong." He pulled away from the boy, and smiled at him in reassurance. He took in the grey eyes, identical to his own, the blonde hair that he'd inherited from Shannon, and perhaps a bit from himself as well, given that Sabrina was a natural blonde, the rest of his features a mix of his and Shan's. "I love you."

"Love you too, Boone." Andrew hugged him again.

Pamela watched all this from her classroom window, not knowing what they were saying, just observing the obvious strength of their bond, and reconfirming her promise to honour Mr. Carlyle's wishes.

They broke their contact, and, with the backpack firmly secured to the luggage rack and helmets in place, Boone headed the bike for home.

They went in through the front door of the store, Andrew wanting to tell Tom all about his first day of school; he stopped at the front counter as Boone continued through to the back. 

He found Heather in the office and recounted the conversation he'd had with Andrews' teacher. He told her about the things he'd imagined she was going to say, as well as the things she actually had, and his own panic over both. She wasn't the slightest bit surprised about the teachers' assessment, she knew Andrew was above average, and had just assumed that Boone knew it as well. As they continued their conversation down the hall and into the kitchen, she pointed out to him that the latest puzzle book he'd bought for the boy _had_ been recommended for ages nine to ten.

"I just thought that was some kind of marketing ploy, to make the kids and parents feel like they were smarter than they were. Like how some clothing manufacturers make their garments bigger but put the same size on so that larger people will still think they fit into an eight." Shannon had explained the concept to him one day at an Old Navy store, as she'd tried on a pair of shorts two sizes smaller that she normally bought.

Boone had been emptying Andrew's backpack onto the kitchen table while they talked, wanting to pull out the containers from his lunch so he could wash them, he frowned a bit as he extracted the Hardy Boys book, assuming it must have come from the school. He remembered reading parts of the series when he'd been a boy, it'd been pretty hokey if he recalled correctly. He hoped they'd updated it some.

He heard the sound of a child running up the hallway, and turned as Andrew pushed though the door. "No running in the house, bud."

"Kay Boone," Andrew nodded in acknowledgement. "Can we go look at the fishes?"

"Fish," Boone corrected automatically. "The plural of fish is still fish."

"Kay Boone," Andrew filed away the information "So can we go look at the fish?"

"Do you have any homework?" He held up the Hardy Boys book. Though it seemed a pretty unlikely candidate for a homework assignment, he knew that the teacher had been flying by the seat of her pants that day, with respect to Andrew. "I found this in your back pack, are you supposed to read it?"

He thought for a minute, seeming unsure. "I'm supposed to finish chapter one. Yeah that's it. I'm supposed to finish chapter one." He smiled, and nodded his head.

"You want us to read it together later?" Boone asked.

"Uhm, I think I'm supposed to do it by myself." He frowned a bit.

"Yeah, I guess you are." Boone felt a little let down; even on the first day of school things were already changing.

"You could read me some of the bunny book!" Andrew offered, using their private term for Watership Down, picking up on his dad's disappointment.

Boone smiled at him, "We'll see."

"So can we go look at the fish, Boone?" He repeated his earlier question.

"I'm afraid not, Andrew, I have to get dinner ready." Boone apologized, feeling even worse as the boys' face fell in disappointment.

"I'll make dinner, dear." Heather offered immediately. "Just tell me what you were planning and I'll make it."

He protested a bit, it _was_ his house after all, and he didn't want her to have to do his job. He'd taken over the cooking chores shortly after the three of them had originally moved in, something Heather had appreciated, though sometimes he asked her to finish up what he'd already started. She'd cooked for over forty years, it was nice having her meals prepared for her for a change, but every now and then, in addition to the home baked goods she made every day for sale in the store, she really liked to just putter at the stove.

"Boone, you haven't seen Andrew all day, please go snorkelling with him." She enticed.

"Alright," he gave in, "Thanks."

They went upstairs to change into their swimsuits and grab their gear. Andrew was standing impatiently by the back door when Boone came back down, his fish identification book gripped tightly in his hand. Excitedly he pulled open the back door and ran across the deck and down the stairs.

He held up his hand so Boone could hold it as they crossed the road, once on the beach, he opened the book. There were actually only a few species of fish in the lake, but he brought the book down with him every time and rechecked the identifying details for bass, perch and lake trout. They'd once seen a sunfish, it'd been the one time he hadn't come armed with his 'reference library' and he'd been horribly disappointed.

"Maybe we'll see Buster." He looked up at his dad, "you think, Boone?"

Boone smiled down at him, "Maybe, bud." He'd named one of the bass in the lake, it had a chunk out of its' tail and a scar down its' side, Boone figured it must have had a close call with a motor boat, possibly even his own.

They waded out into the water and donned their gear, then moved over to the rocky part of the shore, quickly finding small pockets of fish amongst the boulders. They floated almost motionless, watching the denizens of the lake, as the indigenous inhabitants looked back up at them. Boone allowed himself the bizarre notion that he and Andrew were the ones on display here, the fish the actual observers.

Andrew suddenly caught sight of the fish he'd named Buster and quickly swam after the elusive creature, his swim fins propelling him quickly through the water. Boone kept up, watching warily; ready to stop him if they got too deep, but the fish followed the shoreline; then suddenly darted out into deeper water. Unexpectedly Andrew dove under the water for a closer look, Boone becoming a little concerned, stayed close.

He didn't knew exactly what had been going through Andrew's head when he did it, but suddenly he took a breath, and sucked a huge amount of water into his lungs. The combined panic of both of them suddenly flooding him, Boone dove down and snagged the boys' arm dragging him quickly to the surface, moving to stand at the same time, hoping that they weren't in over his head. He felt his feet connect with the bottom as his head broke the surface, the water coming to just below his shoulders. He ripped the mask and snorkel off of Andrew and held the boy while he coughed repeatedly, gasping for air with a horrible sound any time he could manage. He pulled his own gear off, while he alternately rubbed Andrews' back and thumped it.

He felt black edges start to encroach on his vision. 'Fuck no,' he pleaded with himself, putting up a barrier between his thoughts and Andrews'. 'Just keep it together. Boone Andrew Carlyle you can do this. Don't lose your shit.' He felt himself start to go over the edge, the events of the day just too much for his fragile psyche, the fact that he hadn't eaten anything all day just compounding the problem. He desperately tried to keep himself focused. 'You're such a fucking looser.' Suddenly, as his mind manufactured a coping mechanism, he imagined Shannon's voice in his head, denigrating him as she had so many times. 'You're going to kill you both one of these days,' her voice sneered at him. He clung to her unfair criticism, and fought back against it. 'You fucking bitch, leaving me alone to deal with this, raising him all by myself. I'll show you, you selfish whore.' He managed to work his fins off his feet without falling and submerging them both as he kept up the imaginary conversation in his head and headed for shore, relieved when the tactic seemed to work to keep him functioning, though he knew it was only going to be temporary.

Andrew slowly relaxed against him, finally, shaking terribly, he stopped coughing and just clung to Boone, the coughing changing to sobbing, his legs wrapped tightly around Boones' waist.

Reaching the beach, he knelt down carefully and sat Andrew on the ground, pulling away from him with difficulty. He was still crying quietly, but bit his lip and raised his head to look at his dad, "Sorry, Boone."

"For what?" he asked, pulling Andrew's fins off.

"I scared you, I didn't mean to," Andrew apologized. "I scared myself too." His face crumpled again, but he stopped crying.

"I know that, bud." He reached for a towel and held it out for the boy, trying to appear as if he was still in control of himself.

Andrew went to take it from him, his eyes widening as he looked at Boone's arm. "Your bracelet Boone, it's gone." He stared in horrid fascination at the word imprinted on Boone's left wrist, not at the scars, just at the tattoo of his mothers' name, the extra 's' and apostrophe clearly indicating possession. He'd certainly seen the tattoo before, but it seemed to be having more of an impact just now, probably given to the heightened emotional state he was in. Boone also remembered that stage one of the 'why did Shan leave us' cycle had started just the night before.

"Shit." Boone swore; it must have come off in the water. It didn't make any sense: he'd been swimming with the bracelet on for years without ever losing it. Maybe when he was pulling the masks off, he snagged it somehow. He didn't really give a flying fuck right now though; he was so close to just lying on the sand by Andrew's side and letting the blackness take over.

Andrew grabbed his hand and held it, just looking at the word at first; then tracing his thumb across it, before asking, "Find it, Boone, please?"

"Please bud it's only a bracelet. I can get another one." God let him let this go, please, Boone pleaded.

He shook his head vigorously, biting at his lip again, sobbing once.

Boone ground his teeth, and headed back out into the water, thinking all the time that this was a needle in a haystack one-shot chance. First he'd need his mask and snorkel though, and so headed back to where the original incident had played out. He spotted something on the bottom through the crystal clear water and dove under to grab it, coming up with Andrews' gear. He pressed the mask to his face awkwardly, not being able to pull the strap over his head as it was far too small for him, and dove under the water again. The bracelet was sitting in his own upturned mask on the bottom of the lake; he stared at it in stunned fascination. The odds, he wondered, what in the hell were the odds of that? He surfaced holding the bracelet up for Andrew to see, not wanting to let the boy into his head, given how tenuous his grip on his own sanity was right then. Pretty much running on empty, he gathered up the rest of their scattered gear and headed back to shore.

He grabbed his towel and threw it over his shoulder, then held his free hand out for the boy. He took it and stood then held his arms up, wanting to be carried, still shaken. Boone closed his eyes briefly, mustering some strength from somewhere, and leaned down, hooking his arm under Andrews' bottom, and lifting him onto his hip. He took a few unsteady steps up the beach; then took a deep breath, forcing one foot in front of the other.

The next thing he knew they were standing inside the back entrance of the house, both of them clad only in towels, he glanced through the window of the door, their suits were hanging neatly on the line. He'd done it all completely on autopilot.

Tom was sitting at the table, but looked up when he heard the door close. He took one look at them and knew that something had happened, standing he asked Boone what. For a second Boone looked at him like he wasn't quite sure exactly who he was, his eyes were a bit glazed and out of focus. Andrew had one arm wrapped around Boone's waist, and his head pressed against his side.

Boone blinked a few times, processing Toms' question, and rehearsed in his head what he was going to say, afraid if he opened his mouth and just let words pour out, he'd sound like a babbling idiot as he spewed self-recriminations, instead of answering what had been asked. "Andrew wanted to show me his guppy impression, but it turns out he can't breathe underwater quite as well as they can after all." He got it all out in one go.

Tom frowned, about to ask more, but Boones' eyes seemed to be pleading with him for something.

It took pretty much the last reserves of his strength, both physical and mental, but Boone formed the words, 'Take him upstairs' in his head and pushed them at the man as hard as he could, not sure he trusted himself to speak again. He'd been picking up little snippets of Tom and Heathers' thoughts over the past few months, though he hadn't said anything to them about it. He assumed his brain was becoming sensitive to their thought patterns after almost five years of living under the same roof. It was the same as how he and Shannon could read various members of their circle of friends from the survivors of Flight 815 depending on how close their relationship was with that particular person.

Toms' eyes widened a bit as he got the words along with a horrible feeling of being completely overwhelmed that made him feel immediately nauseous, knowing that both came from Boone. He tore his eyes away from Boones' as Boone swayed a bit on his feet.

He crossed the room quickly and took Andrews' hand, telling him that he'd start the shower for him, pulling him away from his father.

The boy looked up at his dad for confirmation, receiving a slight nod he let Tom usher him upstairs, taking a few glances back at Boone on the way.

As soon as they were out of sight, Boone's eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Heather came in through the kitchen door, and stopped short, staring at the still form huddled on the kitchen floor, in shock.

Boone was lying on his side, facing her, his features slack, his mouth hanging open slightly. She rushed forward, checking all around him, to see if she could determine what had happened to him before crouching down beside him and gently rolling him onto his back. He moved limply, like a rag doll, his head rolling loosely on his neck. His towel had come untucked when he'd fallen, so he now lay sprawled out and completely naked. She heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Tom descending.

"What happened?" She asked.

He shook his head at the sight of the unconscious figure, "I thought he might do this." The fact that the man had passed out was obvious, so he explained what had happened that had led to Boone's current state, at least what he had surmised had happened given Boone's less than exact description of the events, plus what he'd been able to glean from Andrew before he'd gotten in the shower.

She turned back to Boone and pulled the towel around him again, securing the ends around his waist, then brushing her fingers through the hair on his forehead, before cupping his cheek. "Poor dear, what a day he's had, it was all just too much for him." While Boone and Andrew had been down at the lake, she'd told Tom what Boone had relayed about what had transpired at school. She looked up at him now, as he stood beside her. "What do we do now? Obviously we can't just leave him lying here on the floor, but if we wake him up, he's not going to feel any better than he did before he passed out. Nothing's changed since then."

Tom thought he could probably carry Boone upstairs, the boy didn't look like he weighed all that much anymore, though it wasn't like he'd ever been a heavy weight, but still thought it best if they brought him around.

Boone came to, with Heather kneeling at his head, holding a rag soaked in some vile smelling cleaning solvent under his nose. He looked a little lost at first, then whimpered slightly before starting to hyperventilate. Staring around wildly, he pushed himself to a seated position, almost immediately starting to heave. Anticipating this reaction, she already had a bucket ready and pushed it in front of him, holding his head while he emptied the, all liquid, contents of his stomach. 'Oh, Boone,' She thought, sadly.

She'd seen him sliding the toast she'd made him into the garbage at breakfast when he thought she wasn't watching, but she'd been sure he'd eaten at noon. He'd disappeared for a time around mid-day, saying he'd make them both some lunch, returning to the office with a sandwich and a napkin in one hand for her and a crumpled napkin in his other. She'd just assumed it was his from his own lunch, and he'd eaten in the kitchen. Open and honest when they'd all first moved in, since he gotten sick, he'd become quite adept at subterfuge, and, certainly not a stupid man, had been able to fool her numerous times into thinking he'd eaten when he hadn't. She loved the boy so much; he was like her own son. He'd changed a lot, obviously, since they'd originally met him, but there was still enough of the original Boone that they'd grown to know and love in him, that they were both fiercely loyal and protective of him.

He pulled back and took a few gasping breaths before starting to cry, remembrances of the events of the day crashing down on him. He dropped his head into his hands as he sobbed.

Heather sent Tom upstairs to distract Andrew and keep him from coming downstairs, knowing that it wouldn't do the boy any good if he saw Boone like this.

She let him indulge himself a while with the crying before she spoke to him sharply, "Boone, pull yourself together."

He gave a few more sobs before he raised his face to her. "I can't do this, I can't." He looked so miserable and broken she just wanted to pull him into her arms and hold him close.

"You can, and you are, and you will." She contradicted.

"He could have died! What was I thinking? Was I even thinking at all?" He bit his lip as he rocked back and forth, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Heather stood, and held her hand down for him. He automatically took it and rose to his feet. She moved over to the kitchen table and sat, he just instinctively followed, pulling the chair to her right out and settling into it.

"What happened, Boone?" She asked.

He recounted the incident at the lake for her, following it up with several ridiculous statements, including some about never letting the boy in the water again, and what a terrible father he was.

"So, what are you going to do? Keep Andrew locked away in his room forever? Accidents happen, Boone. This one doesn't sound any more serious than if he fell off his bike. Are you going to take that away from him too?" She made it all sound a little ridiculous. He was obviously blowing things totally out of proportion, though she had to sympathise with him a bit, she certainly remembered doing the same with her own children from time to time.

"No, yes, no…I don't know. I don't know what to do." He rubbed his hands across his face again, and through his hair, his fingers clenching in the strands before falling to his lap again. He looked lost and dejected, and somehow simultaneously both much younger and much older than his twenty-eight years.

"Well, let's take it one step at a time. Right now, you're going to go upstairs and tell Andrew you're okay. He's probably worried sick and I'm sure he's driving Tom to distraction right about now, wanting to come and check on you. Then you're going to take a shower, and then you're going to come down here and make a salad for us to have with dinner." She'd already made one, but she wanted to be sure that he felt obligated to rejoin them, rather than just withdraw to his room; she could always hide hers and put it in a Ziploc for tomorrows' lunch.

Boone wasn't surprised when Tom tapped on the bedroom door while he was dressing after his shower, wanting to discuss Boone's telepathic communication with him earlier. Boone explained why he thought it was possible, both of them agreeing that it made sense.

Tom turned just before he left the room, "You feel like that all the time?" He recalled the sense of overwhelming panic that he'd gotten from Boone.

Boone looked at him, considering the question for a minute, "Not all the time, no, just most of it."

Tom shook his head in sympathy, "Get better, son." He said quietly.

"I'd like to. Thanks Tom, for everything." He wasn't sure why they were both still here with him; he'd been so much of a burden since Shannon had left him. They'd certainly gotten more than they'd bargained for when they'd agreed to stay on after selling him the house and the business.

After dinner, Boone and Andrew settled in the den to read, Andrew in the centre of the couch and Boone in his favourite wing backed chair. He really just wanted to go to bed, completely drained by the events of the day, but his desire to sit with his son won out without too much difficulty. Andrew excitedly opened the Hardy Boys, and Boone, reluctantly, his own latest read.

After a few minutes Andrew looked up at his dad, "Boone, what's an astromenical unit?"

Boone smiled a little at the mispronunciation, and raised his head from his astronomy book. "It's astronomical, bud. And can you please read your book and not mine; you're supposed to be doing your homework."

"Kay, Boone." He responded by rote, but didn't lower his head again, waiting.

Boone breathed a little laugh; then explained what an astronomical unit was. Andrew nodded after he was done; then went back to reading.

Heather came in with the teapot in one hand, and the phone in the other. "Kate's on the phone for you Boone," she said, giving him the handset and topping up his mug, before leaving the room.

He frowned; he hadn't even heard the phone ring, "Kate?"

"Hey, hon." She greeted, not sounding frazzled at all like most brand new mothers would, Jessica having just been both the month before. He chalked it up to her profession as a paediatrician.

Suddenly it clicked into place, "Heather called you, didn't she?"

Kate confirmed that and then asked about what had happened earlier. Boone apologized for the intrusion and then, rising and going out into the hall, he told her about the incident at the lake.

"Heather said you're thinking about prohibiting Andrew from participation in any aquatic activities for the rest of his life. That's seems a little overblown for two guys who love the water as much as you two do." She went on to reassure him, that no, Andrew wasn't too young to go snorkelling, as long as Boone was with him, and yes, it really was a fairly minor incident. He told her then about what had happened at the school, and discussed his decision with her for a while. She totally supported the conclusion he'd come to, hoping they could all make it work.

"Jack's here, he wants to talk to you." Heather had also told her what had happened in kitchen, and she'd relayed it to Jack, before Heather had taken the phone in to Boone.

"You passed out?" Jack said with no preamble at all, his bedside manner still needing more than a little work.

"Yeah, I did," Boone admitted a little hesitantly.

"Boone," Jack started, sounding exasperated, "Hold on." There was a few seconds of pause. "Kate wants to know if you guys can come for the weekend."

"Jack, I'm slightly mentally unbalanced, I'm not an idiot," Boone rolled his eyes. "You're alone in the room aren't you?"

"Well," Jack laughed at being caught out, "Yeah, kind of, I just thought you might want to talk to someone you can fully open up to."

Tomorrow being Tuesday, he had his weekly session with his therapist, but there was still so much he couldn't say to the guy, that he always somewhat doubted what good it was doing him at all. Heather had come to apprehensively dread Tuesdays, his reactions after his appointment falling into three categories; either he'd be happy and cheerful for the balance of the day, or he'd lock himself in his room, or he immerse himself in a cooking frenzy in an attempt to distract himself from what ever they'd talked about. It was the last reaction that she viewed with the most misgivings.

"Thanks, Jack." Boone said sincerely, he'd actually wanted to ask if they could come, needing to talk, just like Jack had guessed, but, being Boone, he couldn't quite bring himself to ask if he could impose on them.

Just as he was hanging up the land line, his cell rang. He pulled it off his belt clip, and recognizing Claire's number, opened it with a smile on his face. "Hi." He greeted her cheerfully.

"Boone, thank god," she said with relief at hearing his voice.

"What?" He frowned, then "Oh," as realization flooded through him. "Sorry."

"You scared me; I was so worried about you. Andrew's okay though?" The words came out all in a rush. Claire had been fretting about them since early evening, but had to wait till she got the children in bed before calling him. The feeling had come to her as she was getting dinner ready as a vague foreboding that had something to do with the two of them and the lake.

"He's fine, we're both okay." Boone reassured her; then at her request gave her the details on what had happened, reluctantly adding his own reaction on her insistence. She sounded disappointed in him, but not overly surprised. She brightened up though when he told her about Andrew and the school. They talked for a little longer, Boone telling her that they were coming to the city for the weekend to stay at Jack's. Claire immediately said she'd call Kate and arrange for them all to get together, adding that Charlie would even be able to come, as his plane was getting in on Friday.

"Love you," Boone said as he rang off, picturing her in his head, wishing she was there to pull him into a comforting embrace.

"Love you, too," Claire replied. "See you on the weekend."

He headed back into the den to tell Andrew of their planned road trip. He nodded, enthusiastically endorsing the plans, then put his book down and crawled into Boone's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck, as Boone hugged him back.

Andrew pulled away after a minute, "You needed a hug," he explained.

"Yeah, bud, I did." Boone agreed, not surprised that Andrew had picked up on it.

Andrew appeared a little thoughtful; then asked, hesitantly, "You're not going to go away again are you? I know I scared you, and then I couldn't find you in my head. It was lonely. Please don't go away again, Boone."

"I'm not going anywhere Andrew, I promise." Boone assured him.

Andrew looked at him for a minute, almost as if assessing the truth of Boone's statement; he must seen something that satisfied him as he nodded in agreement. "Love you, Boone."

"Love you too." He sure was getting a lot of love tonight; it felt kind of warm and pleasing, brightening his mood considerably. "Finish your home work, okay? Then I'll tuck you in and read you some of the bunny book."

"Kay, Boone." He went back to the couch and picked up his book again.

Sun, Mrs. Reyes, and Nadia all called, wanting the details of Andrews' first day of school. He proudly told them all about the advanced programme they were going to develop for the boy, and that they were going to be spending the coming weekend at Jacks', expecting that most of them would arrange to drop by, or that they'd even plan something a little more organized, what with Claire being involved. By the end of the week she and Kate would probably have a Saturday night barbecue for the group all set up.

After reading Andrew a few pages of Watership Down and kissing him good night, he headed wearily for his own room, wondering, not for the first time, if, when he'd been born, someone had cursed him with that old saying; 'May you live an interesting life'. Boone was pretty sure that all he'd been through was more than pretty much anyone could be expected to withstand, and emerge from unscathed. At least he had good friends to help him though it all, even if his family, with the exception of Andrew, was pretty much a write off.


	6. Chapter 6

Boone came awake slowly the next morning, becoming instantly aware of the totally unexpected feel of a body nestled up against his back. He pulled away carefully and turned, smiling at the sight of Andrew, peacefully sleeping. Being the sound sleeper that he was, he hadn't even been aware of the boy crawling into his bed with him. He wondered why he'd done it, and if he'd tried to wake him, perhaps needing comfort after a nightmare. He'd inherited Shannon's inclination for them, unfortunately.

He tucked the covers back around the pyjama clad sleeping form, and pulled on his boxers' before heading across the hall to the shower. It was way too early to wake the boy yet, but Boone's day started at the crack of dawn. There would be customers waiting at the front door before he even got down there, he knew all too well. They'd be on their way to work, wanting to pick up a homemade muffin, or cinnamon bun, along with their freshly brewed coffee and tea. And he had to make Andrews' lunch as well, and put the bread in the oven, and…well the list of chores seemed endless. He stopped in the kitchen long enough to take what was ready in the oven, out, and dump it into waiting baskets; they always set the timer the night before, so the stuff would be ready at exactly the right time; then he the slid the already loaded and waiting trays in, in their place.

After a while, Tom came in to take over for him in the store, so round two started in the kitchen with Heather, until it was time to go back upstairs and wake Andrew.

Heather realized that Boone was gone much longer than he should have been, and was just about to head up to check on things, when she heard him on the stairs, his tread heavy and slow. She was already expecting that something was wrong, her suspicion confirmed by the look on his face.

To her inquiry, he took a shuddering breath, and squeezed his eyes closed, briefly. "He asked why Shannon left us. He skipped the middle part of the cycle this time, where he asks me to tell him stories of when the three of us were happy; I was kind of expecting it last night. It explains why he was in my bed this morning, though." He sat heavily at the table and dropped his head into his hands. "I didn't cry this time, I wanted to, but I didn't." He looked up at her, hopefully, "Maybe I'm getting better?"

"I'm sure you are, dear." She encouraged, though, thinking about yesterday, seriously doubted it, unfortunately.

When Andrew came down, she didn't think he looked any worse for wear, but then kids bounced back from things pretty quickly.

She was in the office when Boone came in to tell her they were leaving, and that he'd be back around lunchtime. He'd had the doctors' office permanently reschedule the time of his appointment, so he could drop Andrew off, as well as pick him up, and was heading directly there after stopping at the school.

Hearing the roar of the motorcycle, Pamela stood and moved over to the window, watching, with a smile on her face, while Boone switched off the bike, waited for Andrew to dismount, and then put the bike on its' kickstand, so he could liberate the boys' backpack from its' restraints. He waited at the curb until Andrew was safely inside the front doors. He'd assured Boone at breakfast that he knew his way to his classroom. Catching sight of her at the window, Boone waved a hand in greeting, before restarting the bike and riding off.

She felt slightly stalkerish at her continued desire to observe them, but there was just something about the two of them that drew her to them. The child was absolutely precious, and the man undeniably gorgeous. She'd actually fallen asleep the night before with an image of Boone in her head, and had laughed as she recognized the first signs of a teen aged type crush.

Andrew entered the classroom and headed for his assigned seat. Putting his backpack down, he extracted something from it and headed for her desk. She was already sitting back down behind it when he approached.

"Miss Phillips?" He got her attention. He was holding out a rectangular object wrapped in a grocery bag, "Boone sent this for you."

She took it from him and opened it, inside was a plastic wrapped loaf of homemade bread, still a bit warm. She smiled at him in appreciation, "Thank you."

"I told him you said homemade bread is really special, so he made an extra." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pants' pocket and put in on the corner of the desk, "These are the 'gredients, in case you're allergic to something, Boone said."

The man thought of everything, she reflected, chuckling.

He turned to go back to his seat, but she stopped him, "Andrew?"

"Yes, Miss Phillips?" He responded, politely.

"I need to speak to your dad when he picks you up, can you remember to tell him that?" She asked. Pamela had talkedto her colleagues the day before and they'd come up with a bit of a strategy. She needed to discuss it with Mr. Carlyle, though, and arrange for him to meet with all of them.

Andrew nodded, "Kay, Miss Phillips," he responded, and continued on his way.

Not being able to resist, Pamela unwrapped the loaf and pulled a chunk off one corner, popping into her mouth. She smiled and made a sound of appreciation at the delicious homey goodness of it, sorry that she couldn't go to the staff lounge and cut herself a couple of slices and put them into the toaster. Regretfully, she wrapped it back up and stuck it into her briefcase.

Boone was apprehensive about that days' session, he found himself actually easing up on the throttle as he got closer to his doctors' office. He knew he'd have to come clean about what had happened the day before, keeping secrets from the guy wasn't going to help him at all; but he was more than a little disappointed. Just last week they'd discussed cutting back on his daily dosage of meds, and he figured yesterdays' meltdown was going to negate that decision. Dr. Andersen _had_ thought he was doing a little better, and Boone had been understandably excited about the minor milestone. He wanted so badly to be normal again, or whatever it was that passed for normal in the fucked up world. He figured everyone was screwed up somewhat, it just all came down to a matter of degrees; unfortunately he was a little more screwed up than average.

Heather heard the motorcycle, and breathed a sign of relief. She knew he could just as easily off himself in a car as on the bike if he really intended to, but the bike was just inherently more dangerous. She knew he was as careful on it as Boone was with everything, still when he rode it to his therapy sessions; she always waited anxiously for the sound of it pulling into the driveway, never knowing what his mood would be, and if he'd just decide to toss it all on the way home, too despondent to go on any longer. She rose and went into the kitchen to fetch his lunch.

Boone hung his jacket up on one of the hooks inside the back door, and briefly considered going directly upstairs. The session had gone as badly as he'd feared, and he'd cried, in spite of promising himself he wouldn't. He felt the tears threaten again, but willed them away, successfully. He forced his feet down the hall to the office so he could tell Heather he was home, before he became a hermit for the rest of the afternoon.

Heather was sitting at her desk, she looked up at him in greeting, her smile faltering for a second as she took in his demeanour, realizing that this was one of the bad times, knowing that he'd want to go and lock himself in his room before too much time had passed. "Hello, dear," she forced the smile back on her face. She was glad she'd come up with a bit of a game plan; she just hoped it would work.

"Hi," he said quietly, his head lowered, his eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but at her, he closed them and frowned. "I'm going to lie down for a bit." He informed her, already turning.

"Oh, Boone, no, I need you down here. There are some things that only you can take care of, and I made your lunch." She gestured at his desk.

He met her eyes briefly, furrowing his brow and biting at his lip, "Okay," he said dejectedly and crossed the room to his desk, her barely disguised subterfuge working easily in his distracted state. There was a sandwich and some veggie sticks on a plate beside his keyboard, and a glass of iced green tea. He felt himself start to lose it at the simple thoughtfulness of the gesture that, in his current mood, he didn't think he deserved, "Thanks." He didn't trust himself to say more than the one word without breaking down.

Heather kept him busy, but not too busy, for the rest of the afternoon. She didn't want the work to replace the cooking frenzy that he often distracted himself with so he didn't have to think about whatever it was he'd discussed with his doctor. As a result there were several lulls, where he spent a few minutes looking sad and pensive, before sighing and moving on to the next task she set in front of him.

When the time in the lower right hand corner of his monitor read three-thirty, he pushed himself away from the desk, and rose. "Got to pick Andrew up," he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Nice plan, thanks, I needed a bit of a kick in the pants." He whispered in her ear.

"You're too smart for your own good sometimes, Boone Carlyle," Heather said with a smile, he'd seen through her smoke and mirrors after all.

"Yeah, that's it. I'm cleverer than I give myself credit for." He responded, sarcastically. "Later." He left the room.

Andrew was waiting for him just inside the door of the classroom, though he didn't have his jacket on or his backpack over his shoulder. He smiled happily at the sight of his dad and ran forward to hug his arms around Boone's waist.

'Miss Phillips wants to see you,' Andrew thought at him.

Boone winced, 'Out loud, Andrew.'

The boy voiced it obediently, looking a little apologetic.

Boone went up to the front to find out what was up, thinking it must have something to do with the special curriculum he'd requested for Andrew. Pamela confirmed that, and told him that he was expected at a parent/teachers meeting at five the next day.

He nodded agreement, "I'll see you tomorrow at five then."

"You won't be picking Andrew up at four?" The words were out, sounding a little disappointed, before she could stop herself.

Boone hadn't even registered her tone, "Oh, yeah right, too many things on my mind right now. I guess I'll see you at four _and_ five." He turned.

Pamela reached out and put her hand on his arm to stop him, then immediately snatched it away, wondering what the hell she was doing. Boone looked back at her, questioningly. "I just wanted to thank you for the bread." It actually _had_ been what she'd been planning on saying, she just hadn't intended on touching him.

He shrugged, "I was making some anyway. It was no big deal to make an extra." He downplayed the compliment and immediately regretted the throwaway nature of his reply. Awww fuck, open mouth, insert foot, Christ you're an idiot he berated himself.

Predictably her face fell a bit; his words making her feel a little inconsequential. She renewed her smile, making sure it reached her eyes, "It was a kindness, and I appreciate it."

He gritted his teeth at his stupidity, "You're welcome, enjoy it." He tried to salvage some of his dignity, and hers, by giving her what Shannon had always called his Carlyle Enterprises smile.

Pamela suddenly forgot what it was that they were even talking about, and just watched dazedly as the two of them left the room.

Shannon waited impatiently for the man moving on top of her to finish. His movements became a bit more erratic then he groaned heavily, after a few more thrusts he relaxed against her. She push him off her irritably, "Go clean yourself up."

Miguel rolled over onto his side to face her, his hand reaching out to touch her. She batted it away, "Leave me alone, I'm tired, just go." He was a nice guy, but it was time to end it, she needed to move on, she'd already lived there a few months short of two years.

He regarded her for a minute, a knowing look in his eye. He smiled a bit sadly at what he read on her face, and got out of bed.

Protected sex was so much less messy than unprotected sex, Shannon thought, but also so much less satisfying. Or was it that the only unprotected sex she'd ever had was with Boone, and was it really more the fact that it was Boone rather than that it was unprotected? Truly that was the only kind of sex she'd _ever_ had with Boone, so could she really compare the two? Jack had been right when he'd told them he didn't think she'd ever be able to have any more children. She knew she couldn't conceive again, the amount of sex they'd had after Andrew's birth till the time she'd left, without any further offspring, kind of proving that, given that it was obvious that they _could_ get pregnant. But there were other reasons for being sensible and using protection, besides unplanned pregnancy.

Damn that the first time she'd thrown caution to the wind, she'd gotten pregnant. She'd weighed the odds as the two of them had entwined themselves around one another on his hotel room bed all those years ago in Sydney. It had all been about control, and re-establishing it, she'd been desperate to after Brian had revealed her scheming to Boone and then duped her. She'd planned the whole thing in the cab ride over, needing to regain her position of strength in the pecking order. What better way than to exploit the one person she knew was weaker than herself? It had been so easy to manipulate Boone through his love for her, regaining control over him again. Taking the chance on getting pregnant, which she'd figured had to be a thousand to one, given that some couples tried for years unsuccessfully, or letting him out of her arms long enough to go to the bathroom to fetch a condom, she'd picked the former. There was no way she'd been going to give him a minute for the brain in his head to take over from the one in his pants, though by that time it had actually been hard and grasped firmly in her hand. Turned out the odds of the first were one to zero, who'd have thought?

Miguel crawled back under the covers with her, and rolled over to lie against her.

"Get away from me," Shannon pawed him off, "you know I can't sleep when someone's touching me." Except Boone, she thought to herself.

He moved back over to his own side.

She rolled over and wrapped her arms around herself, too proud and stubborn to cry herself to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Pamela awoke to the obnoxious sound of the grating buzz of the clock radio, and snuck a hand out from under the covers to swat the off button. In the ensuing silence, she could just make out a muted pattering. She pulled the blankets off her head and glanced blearily at the window, to see that rain was falling against it. She threw the covers back and crossed the room to the window, and looked out at the storm clouds overhead. Whoever the hell had said it never rained in Southern California in that old song was clearly a liar. Her thoughts almost immediately turned to the Carlyle's, and their mode of transportation. She knew that there was undoubtedly special protective gear for riding a motorcycle in these conditions, but even so, it could hardly be completely waterproof. She pictured Andrew sitting uncomfortably in sodden clothes for most of the morning till he dried out. She'd be sure to bring some towels with her from home, probably some of her other students would arrive in less than ideal states as well.

She headed for the kitchen to brew some coffee and cut a couple of thick slices of Mr. Carlyle's bread for the toaster. She'd had a BLT for dinner the night before, changing her planned meal of spaghetti, in order to enjoy his gift at its freshest, and then made herself a second, the delicious nutty goodness of the whole grain loaf, somehow not making one sandwich enough.

She was sitting at her desk in the classroom, working on her lesson plan, when, in her peripheral vision, she saw a small hand slide a plastic wrapped muffin onto its corner. She raised her head, not surprised to see Andrew, but sill surprised all the same, she was sure she hadn't heard the roar of the motorcycle, and the boy looked remarkably dry and happy for someone who'd been exposed to the elements.

"From Boone," he said smiling and pulling a piece of paper out of a pocket, putting the recipe beside the small token; he turned to go.

"I didn't hear the bike," Pamela's words stopped him. "How did you get here?"

"Car," he supplied. "Sometimes Boone drives the car."

She pictured him in a chauffeurs' uniform, squiring the wealthy family he undoubtedly worked for around town, it probably gave him certain freedoms when it came to personal use of his employers' automobile. "Thank you," she said, for the muffin.

Andrew nodded happily and headed back to his seat.

The day progressed uneventfully. Pamela was starting to get a handle on the personalities and strengths and weaknesses of her individual students. It helped that the class was relatively small in comparison to the huge classes she'd been faced with in her former city based position. A different state, a different school, a chance to start fresh, it all seemed so exciting, and easier for someone like her with no ties holding her anywhere. Andrew left in the morning for his math class and then in afternoon for English, but she had him for the rest of the day. He had a widely varied knowledge of certain elements of geography and history, and even in three days, she could see that he was quickly going to leave the others behind. It was proving quite amusing for her to discover the somewhat obscure range of topics he _did_ have a grasp on, and the fact that he could speak a smattering of Korean was truly odd. When they'd been talking about early American history he'd put up his hand and explained how to clean a flintlock gun, then in geography he'd challenged her about monsoons. She assumed that his father must have a decidedly eclectic taste in reading or television viewing, and had included the boy in both, though in her wildest imagination she wouldn't have believed that Andrew had read almost everything Boone had as well.

She was watching her students getting their things packed up for the day, when Boone came in the school room door, the scuff marks on his leather jacket blending in to the rest of the jet black colour by virtue of the rain that had soaked the garment though. His hair was strangely dry on top but dripping wet around the bottom, she realized that he had a ball cap gripped in one hand that explained it. Pamela could see the Beatles logo on the front of his t-shirt, as the unzipped jacket gapped open. This one looked as worn as the others she'd seen him in, even at this distance she could tell that there was a small tear at the neck line, his skin showing flesh coloured against the navy of the garment. She had no way of knowing that all the shirts had been gifts from Shannon and there was no way that he was going to stop wearing them or part with them until they literally hung in rags off his shoulders.

Predictably Andrew was waiting just a few feet inside the door for him. Pamela had noticed that the boy always seemed to time his approach to the entrance to coincide pretty much exactly with Boone's appearance; she chalked it up to the man's obviously highly ingrained sense of timing, and Andrews' reliance on it.

As Andrew hugged him, Boone smiled at her in greeting; then crouched to do up the fastenings on Andrews' yellow slicker. Rising and taking the boys' hand, he mouthed the word 'later' at her and left.

She waited a few minutes then went to the window to watch for them. There was a black four-door sedan parked at the curb where he usually left the bike, and they were headed directly for it, hunched against the rain, the ball cap back in place on the mans' head. Boone pulled the passenger door open for Andrew, then went around the front of the car to get in the drivers side. As he drove away, she read the make and model of the car off the trunk. Pamela didn't know that much about cars, but she knew that this one probably cost more than most peoples' houses. Whoever he worked for, they certainly were well off.

She was working at her desk an hour later when she heard the tentative knocking, raising her head at the sound, she smiled at him. "There you are."

"I'm late?" He immediately looked upset and confused.

She looked up at the clock as the second hand jumped from 4:59:59 to 5:00. "No Mr. Carlyle, you're right on time. _I'm_ the one who lost track," Pamela assured him. He looked a little relieved.

He'd changed his clothes, she noted, exchanging the Beatles t-shirt for a soft grey long sleeved sweater, with top stitching, and his worn jeans for a dark wash dressier pair. He'd still worn the leather jacket though; it was clutched in his left hand. She found his effort to clean himself up for his appointment a bit old fashioned and endearing.

She informed him that they were all going to be gathering in the principals' office and led the way there. During the meeting, she wasn't surprised to find out that he had a quick and analytical mind, asking several questions, pointing out a number of factors that the rest of them had over looked and suggesting some changes. He asked again if he'd irreparably harmed Andrew in some way by teaching him so much more than most children his age could grasp, a worried look on his face. He breathed a sigh and seemed to relax a bit as he was reassured by the other three teaching professionals, and he had been my Pamela herself, that on the contrary, what he'd done was to be commended.

After Boone signed off on the authorization papers, Pamela walked him to the front door. The rain had let up while they'd all been closeted away discussing Andrews' schedule, and the sun was now valiantly trying to burn off the straggling remains of the storm clouds. As she smiled up at him saying goodbye, Boone found himself smiling back and admiring her features. He found his chest getting a little tight and his breathing a little laboured as he realized that he was becoming attracted to her. His smile faltered as he fumbled behind himself blindly for the door handle. He fled quickly, mumbling goodbye over his shoulder. Once in the car he crossed his arms over the steering wheel and rested his forehead on them.

His thoughts were an incoherent mess as he sat there, so much going through his head that he couldn't even begin to sift through it, guilt, confusion, desire, shame; they all ricocheted around in his skull. He was shaking slightly, as he raised his head and started the car, knowing that he couldn't sit out in front of the school any longer without drawing unwanted attention.

Pamela watched from inside the door, puzzled by his odd behaviour, then becoming concerned as the car stayed parked for a minute. She was just about to go out and check on him, when he pulled away from the curb.

When he got home Andrew was wheeling Boone's bicycle out of the garage, Andrews' own bike already on its kick-stand on the asphalt. As Boone parked the car, Andrew asked him, silently, if they could go for a ride. It was already past six, but he'd taken the window of time between picking Andrew up, and the meeting, to get dinner ready up to the point where it'd only take about five minutes to put the finishing touches on it, so he figured it wouldn't hurt if they delayed the meal briefly so they could get some bonding time together. It'd also give him an opportunity to get his thoughts more in order.

He'd tried to sort though his conflicting emotions on the drive home, and felt like he was starting to get a handle on the war of Desert Storm sized proportions, that was raging around in his mind. He'd already realized that at the root of most of it, was his sense of commitment to his marriage vows. Though they certainly hadn't stopped Shannon from abandoning him; that didn't mean that he felt comfortable following her lead. And he also felt a certain hesitance in starting anything with someone new, he was so messed up, was it even fair to expect someone to have to deal with his shit? And then there was his past, Christ he wondered, how the hell could anyone be expected to understand any of it? He knew he was getting a little ahead of himself though, it wasn't like he had to explain his whole life story on the first date.

There it was…'date,' the word frightened him, he hadn't been out on a date since before the crash. Still, for the first time in the over two years since Shannon had left, he found himself actually contemplating asking a woman out. He had to give that unaccustomed urge some consideration. He wanted to lead a more normal life, and what was more normal than dating? There was still a lot more thinking he had to do about it first, though, and this was certainly something he wasn't going to discuss at home. The woman was Andrews' teacher, and he had no idea how the boy would react, nor Tom and Heather.

He told his son to hang tight while he went in to change, and was back out in less than five minutes, actually glad at the chance for a bit of exercise.

The next morning Boone was hesitant about sending something for Pamela, given his suddenly conflicted emotions. The baked goods had only been thoughtful gestures before, just Boone's way of thanking her for going the extra mile for Andrew, now, at least to Boone, they were something different. He decided against it and zipped up Andrews' back pack, holding it out for him.

Andrew didn't take it, "You forgot to put something in for Miss Phillips, Boone."

Boone looked at him for a second, then smiled and breathed a small laugh, suddenly he felt like an idiot, only _he_ would read something into an innocent pastry. "You're right, bud I did. What do you think she'd like today?"

Pamela kept the lid firmly closed on her coffee, waiting until Andrew arrived, hoping that he'd have something his dad had sent that she could enjoy with the hot beverage. She wasn't disappointed when he put a cinnamon bun on her desk on his arrival, and placed the inevitable piece of paper beside it. She asked him to wait while she scribbled a note on it and gave it back to him.

When Boone was doing the laundry that night, he was checking through Andrews' pockets before he threw the stuff in the wash, and found the message.

"I'm not allergic to anything, and thanks for the morning snacks." She'd signed it, Pamela.

When Boone suddenly appeared in the class room to pick Andrew up after school on Friday, she was startled; she'd been keeping one ear out for the unmistakeable sound of his arrival, but hadn't heard anything. She went to the window and saw the car, sitting at the curb in the bright sunlight; then approached them.

"Hi," she greeted.

"Hi," he tried not to appear awkward, feeling a little like an adolescent who had a crush on his best friends' mother.

"No bike?"

"We're going to Jacks'!" Andrew said excitedly, as if that explained everything. "For the weekend," he added.

She frowned and waited for Boone to clarify, though he really didn't owe her any explanation. "We're going to the city to stay with some friends for the weekend, and we're leaving right from here. It's a little too far for Andrew on the bike, and the car needs service anyway so," he shrugged, "I thought I could kill two birds with one stone." Good one, Carlyle, you actually managed to sound coherent, he congratulated himself.

She smiled, thinking that it was nice of him to do his employer the favour on his own time, though she figured it probably evened out, seeing as he got the use of the car for the long drive into LA. "Well, that sounds like fun." She addressed her comment to Andrew, who nodded with enthusiasm. "Have a good time," she wished Boone.

She really was pretty, he thought. "Yeah, uhm, thanks. Uhm you have a good weekend too." He stammered a bit awkwardly then almost pushed Andrew out the door.

Pamela spoke briefly with another parent before going to the window. They were just getting in the car. She pictured the two of them in the rec room of some small suburban bungalow, or out in the postage sized back yard, the adults having a few beers and playing cards, while the kids ran amok, though she didn't really think that Andrew had it in him to run amok, he was pretty reserved, as was his dad. Still on a visit to some long time friends, which this 'Jack' undoubtedly was, given Andrew obvious excitement, they'd probably let their hair down. The thought led her to a mental image of Boone with long hair, and she zoned out for a bit, the next thing she knew she was alone in the classroom.


	8. Chapter 8

Boone pulled into the circular driveway in front of Jack's sprawling Spanish Colonial. He'd already dropped his own car off at the dealership for service and was driving a loaner. It had taken him a few minutes behind the wheel to get used to the automatic transmission, and, if not for their seat belts, he would have sent the two of them through the windshield when he pressed the brake pedal all the way to the floor, his left foot automatically going for the clutch, while his right hand search for the stick shift that was non-existent. While Boone apologized to him, Andrew had scowled at him angrily, looking quite a bit like Shannon, but, unlike she would have, he'd refrained from making a comment.

Jack was opening the front door before Boone even switched off the ignition. Andrew was out the passenger door in a flash; his feet flying up the walkway, launching himself at Jack. Boone followed a little more sedately, after grabbing all the bags from the back seat.

"Boone," Jack greeted him with a smile, and held out the arm that wasn't supporting Andrew, to pull the younger man into an awkward hug, the five-year-old growth that had suddenly sprung up on his torso making a full hug impossible.

"Good to see you, man," Boone grinned when he pulled away. "Thanks for the invite." He nodded at Andrew, "You want me to remove that for you?"

Jack shook his head and held up a finger conspiratorially, bidding Boone to wait a minute. "Andrew? Kate's in the living room, she's got someone new for you to meet, you want to go find out who?"

The boy couldn't shimmy down Jack's side fast enough, quickly disappearing through the door.

Jack held out his hand to grab one of the backpacks from Boone as they headed into the house. Boone chuckled as they reached the entrance and proceeded down the hall, Jack look at him questioningly.

"He's just caught sight of Jessica." He explained. "He hasn't really ever seen too many babies, so when he does he's always kind of fascinated."

They entered the living room to find Andrew standing right in front of Kate, pressed up against her knees, leaning over to stare into the blanket wrapped bundle she was holding. Boone crossed the room and bent down to kiss her cheek as they greeted each other, stealing a quick peek at the baby himself. Andrew glanced up at him briefly, grinning from ear to ear, looking as if this was his _own_ baby sister.

"I don't know, bud, you'll have to ask Kate." Boone said in an apparent non sequitur.

"Can I hold her?" Andrew redirected his question as Boone had indicated.

Kate looked a little apprehensively at Boone as she considered his request.

"Honestly Kate, _I'm_ more likely to drop her than Andrew is." Jack snorted a laugh at the truth in Boone's words. He shot him a dirty look then shrugged, after all he was well known for the clumsiness to which he'd just admitted. "I'd suggest having him sit down first though."

The two men left them to sort out baby holding privileges as Jack led the way to their guest rooms. They left Andrew's stuff in his room; then crossed the hall to Boones'. Once Boone put his backpack on the bed, Jack pulled him into a real hug. "Damn, it's great to see you."

"Jack, you just saw me last month when Jessica was born." Boone reminded him.

"Yeah, but it was a crazy time and I was all distracted. I barely remember anyone coming to the hospital; I was just so excited to finally hold my own baby. I waited a long time for that moment. I never thought I'd be this old before my first child was born." Jack looked a little wistful.

"Yeah, and I never thought I'd be that young when mine came along." Boone smirked a bit, "and Shannon even younger, but that was the root of the whole problem, now wasn't it?

"Funny how things work out," Jack observed. Boone nodded in agreement, his comment about Shannon prompting Jack to ask, "So you want to talk now?"

"Hell no! I just fought Friday night LA rush hour traffic; I want a drink and a chance to unwind. We've got time before dinner right?" The last came out as more of a statement than a question.

They spent the next hour out in the back yard, sitting around on lawn chairs, catching up, and watching Andrew playing in the shallow end of the pool. When he'd expressed a desire to go in the water, and had changed into his swim suit, Boone had made him walk up the length of the pool until the depth of the water reached his shoulders, then he'd grabbed the pool skimmer and laid it on the ground, at a right angle to the concrete edge, marking the spot so he'd know if the boy got deeper than he should. Kate actually thought it was a pretty smart idea and filed the information away for use when their own daughter got old enough to want to do the same.

Boone watched nervously, often times losing complete track of the conversation as he focused intently on the boy in the water. It was the first time he'd let Andrew back in swimming since the snorkelling incident, and he sure as hell didn't want a repeat of that. Kate finally leaned forward and grabbed his jaw, forcibly turning his head back to them, reassuring him that with all three of them in attendance, especially with two of them being doctors, the chance of any harm coming to his son was slim to none.

Dinner was a leisurely affair, the baby went down without a fuss, before they started, and Andrew was well used to sitting at a table of adults for long periods of time, having endured several formal dinners at Sabrina's house.

After eating, Boone gave Andrew a few options on how to fill his time while Jack and he talked. He decided against TV or reading and instead went to his room and fetched his latest puzzle book, sitting on the carpet and squirming himself up to the coffee table. Pencil in hand, he opened the book and bent his head over it.

Kate settled back into the couch with a fresh cup of coffee and a medical text, telling her husband and Boone, "You boys go have a nice talk, we'll hold the fort down here, won't we Andrew?"

He looked up to nod yes, but stopped, the smile sliding off his face when he saw how serious the two men looked. "Boone?"

Boone came around and table and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, 'Nothing to worry about, just adult stuff, but stay out of my head till I get back, okay?'

'Kay Boone,' he thought, not sounding completely convinced, still frowning a bit.

Kate leaned forward to engage him in a conversation about the puzzle he'd opened the book up to, and redirect his focus.

Boone shot her a look of thanks, and the two of them headed to the den.

"You think I'm ready to start dating?" Boone asked, starting the conversation with what was forefront in his mind as he shut the door behind them. The two of them took seats.

"Do _you_ think you're ready to start dating?" Jack countered.

Boone frowned and looked at him flatly. "I thought I was talking to a friend. If I wanted to talk to my therapist I would be. Can you please not answer my questions with other questions? Sometimes the guy makes me feel like it'd be just as productive to talk to myself in a mirror."

"Sorry Boone. You _are_ talking to a friend; sometimes the professional in me gets in the way." He apologized.

Boone just rolled his eyes.

"I think that the fact that you're even _asking_ the question, kind of answers it," Jack tried again. "I think it'd be great if you moved on and started dating, but what about the fact that you're still married, you thinking about getting a divorce? You've certainly got grounds."

"Yeah, sure, then when Shan comes back, I'll send her straight to you so you can explain why we aren't married anymore, and that it was all your idea. You're a braver man than I am." Boone laughed.

"No way, I'm not the one with the death wish here." Jack thought he'd take his chances baiting Boone a little, wanting to read his mood.

The younger man just chuckled, he'd really felt himself relaxing over the course of the evening, and just wasn't in the mood to take umbrage.

Jack fell silent for a bit, thinking, Boone's slip hadn't gone unnoticed by him. "So you said 'when' Shannon comes back."

"I did?" He seemed startled.

Jack nodded. "Why are you thinking of starting up a new relationship if you think she's coming back? And what exactly are you going to do if she does? She left you Boone."

"I don't know what I'd do. It's so…," He couldn't finish the thought because he didn't know how to. Instead he asked, "Your first marriage ended when your wife left you, right?"

"Suddenly this is all about me? I thought we were talking about you?" Jack didn't know where Boone was going with this.

"Wait, I've got a point." He asked for Jacks' forbearance. "You still love each other at the end?"

"I'm not sure I even loved her at the beginning." Jack commented, quietly.

"What?" Boone looked up sharply.

"Nothing, this isn't about me. No, we didn't." He admitted.

"You saw us, that last day." Boone looked at him, "You think we did?"

Jack took a moment. "Yes you did." He answered decisively," Totally and completely, no question."

"But she still left." Boone shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders.

"We all know that, Boone."

He seemed to consider for a moment. "All I can say is that it was kind of like some couples, one of whom wants children desperately, and one is appalled by the thought. They love each other, but there's that fundamental difference, so they break up. You end up with two very unhappy people, or a really bad chick flick, maybe both." He breathed a small bitter laugh.

Jack chuckled; it wasn't the first time that Boone had been funny over the course of the evening. He enjoyed the guys' humour.

"Go on," Jack urged.

"But, when she left she said she wasn't ready _yet_. Do you have any idea how deeply those three letters have cut me? Just a word, one syllable, but so open ended. Your wife left you, but when it was over, it was over. I have no closure. She's not dead; she's, possibly, not gone for good, she didn't leave me for someone else. It's like she just expected me to put my whole life on hold, and wait for her, the selfish bitch. She's not just played me like a fiddle, Jack, I'm the entire string section of the New York Philharmonic, and what I lost; you have no idea, no fucking idea." He was becoming more agitated.

"Your wife left you Boone, for whatever reason and, as you just pointed out, so did mine, so I _do_ know." Jack insisted.

"No, no you don't. I'm not just empty in here, Jack," he pressed his hand against his chest, "I'm empty in here too," he tapped his head. "You can get a vague sense of all of us, I know that, you were the leader, you needed to know where we all were. But even you've admitted no one came near to the closeness that Shan and I had." Boone narrowed his eyes, "It's gone, all of it."

"Boone." Jack started.

He rose and started pacing, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. "At least I had Andrew, but now even he's gone most of the time. All those hours at school, he's not in my head anymore. I got used to it Jack! At least when she left, I still had him. Fucking bitch." In an uncharacteristic moment of aggression he kicked an ottoman over, then, in horror at his action, rushed forward to right the piece of furniture, only to end up tripping over it, and falling on the carpet. "Shit," he cursed, "even the furniture has it in for me."

As he scrambled to his feet, Jack realized that the mishap had defused Boone's anger, so he felt fairly safe pointing out that Boone _had_ attacked the innocent foot stool first, and could he really blame it for defending itself?

"I'll try not to sneak up on any of the arm chairs then, they might be in cahoots. It's probably a conspiracy." He smirked a little at his foolishness, and took his seat, gently resting his feet on the victim of his earlier fit of pique.

Jack picked up the thread of the conversation again, "To be honest, I've never thought about your mental bond with her, in the context of her leaving that is, and you've never brought it up before, why now?"

"Like I said, I still had Andrew, but now he's gone most of the day too. I…I guess I'm just lonely." He admitted.

Jack considered that for a minute. "I know what I feel like, when any of the group is around, the gentle nudging in my head. My sense of the rest of you is only minimal, you were right when you said that I hade no idea what you lost, your bond was so strong, I know I'll feel kind of empty when you guys leave on Sunday."

Boone seemed to think for a minute; then he raised his eyes and looked at Jack, seeming to come to a decision. He rose and went to stand behind Jack's chair. "You want just a taste of it? I don't know how strongly I can make you feel it, I've never tried this before, and I sure as hell don't know how much you want to, my head's pretty fucked."

Jack nodded, and took a deep relaxing breath, not exactly sure what he was in for. When Boone's fingers came in contact with his temples, he felt like he'd been hit by a freight train. The sensations, emotions, flashing memories overwhelmed him, he couldn't make coherent sense out of any of it; he was just too overcome by the intensely intimate nature of it.

After a minute Boone snatched his hands away, and balled them up against his chest, almost feeling like he'd purposely put them on a hot burner. It was the first time he'd connected so fully with a strange mind. He moved slowly back over to his chair; and sat with his head bowed.

The severance of the bond had just as much of an impact on Jack as the initiation of it, but instead of being overwhelmed by the presence of another person in his head, he was left bereft by the sudden absence of it. He put his hand up, tentatively to his face, feeling the wetness of tears on his cheek.

Boone raised his head, not as affected as Jack, being too used to the phenomenon, when he saw that the other man was crying, he went over to the side board and poured them each a stiff shot of whiskey. Passing, he pressed one of the glasses into Jacks' hand.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"How did she do it? How could she have left you? To give that up…" Jack broke the quiet. "How does she deal with it now, without going mad?"

"I guess she's too busy sight seeing, taking in new places, and entertaining the boy toy of the month." He shrugged. "I don't know. I spend countless hours wondering, but I don't really know." Boone sipped at the amber liquid in his glass; then put it down on the side table. "I'm going to bed." He announced abruptly.

He stopped just before he left the room, "Night Jack, and thanks man."

Jack just looked at him without replying, finally saying, "Have a good time on your date, Boone."

"You know what? I think I will." He smiled briefly before closing the door, softly, behind him.

Shannon stood in the centre of the apartment and looked around. Miguel was gone and her stuff was all packed, the single suitcase and backpack standing ready by the door, there was a cleaning service coming in the next day, so all she had to do was lock up and jump in a cab for the airport. She hesitated however, and found herself crossing to the bathroom to lean against the door jamb. Boone would have insisted on cleaning the place himself, knowing he'd do a better job of it than the local franchise of Molly Maid, or whatever passed for them here in Spain. She pictured him on his knees beside the bathtub, a bottle of cleanser beside him and a scrub brush in his hand.

She let the tears come this time, and called his name out into the empty room. The imaginary figure turned to her summons. "Oh Boone, god Boone, I miss you so much." She told him, wanting him with her so badly she felt her knees give out as she slid to the floor.

That was the problem; she wanted _him_ with _her_, not the other way around. She wanted to share Europe with him, she wanted to flit with him from country to country, she wanted to be rootless and carefree, and she wanted him to want the same, to _be_ the same. But he wasn't, and he couldn't ever be. He wanted roots, he wanted familiarity; he wanted routine. He needed purpose; he needed to feel he was making a difference, whereas she just didn't give a shit. Instant gratification, careless indifference, no responsibilities, that was who she was.

She'd told him she wasn't ready _yet_, but suddenly found herself wondering if she ever would be. She pushed herself to her feet, crossed the impersonal apartment, and gathered her luggage. She pulled the door shut, loudly, behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

Boone stretched languidly in the soft warmth of the unfamiliar bed. He'd slept better than he had in weeks, the talk with Jack taking more weight off his shoulders than he even realized he'd been carrying. He snuggled down under the covers, rolling over on his side and pulling his head completely under the blankets, he still hadn't opened his eyes, wanting to enjoy the unusually relaxed feeling that had enveloped him. Unfortunately, his internal clock was at odds with him, and was urging him to get motivated. Sighing at the knowledge that he wasn't going to be able to ignore it much longer he threw the covers back, and rolled out of bed. He stood for a minute, running his mind over Andrew and Jack, both still soundly asleep, before deciding that an early morning swim was definitely in order, the long hours of rest had recharged his batteries, and he needed to work off a little energy. He pulled on his swimsuit and, stopping in the bathroom long enough to grab a towel, padded quietly to the back door letting himself out.

The grass was wet with dew, rapidly drenching his feet, causing him to leave fresh footprints on the flagstone of the pool deck, which quickly dried and disappeared in the radiance of the morning sun. He dropped his towel at the edge of the steps and lowered himself into the warmth of the heated pool. He started slowly, warming up, but before too much time had passed his strokes got longer, his legs kicking faster as he moved through the water. It didn't take long for him to find a rhythm, ten strokes and flip, ten strokes and flip, he repeated the motion over and over, letting his mind drift as his movements became automatic.

He didn't know how long he'd been at it when he became aware of a metallic clanging reverberating through the excellent sound-conducting medium of the water. He pulled up short, and stood, squinting against the glare of the sun. Kate was standing by the poolside, banging the handle of the pool skimmer against the concrete edge, in a successful attempt to get his attention.

"Hey Mark Spitz, time to get out, breakfast in fifteen." She announced without a greeting.

"And good morning to you too," Boone answered, laughing. No wonder she and Jack got along so well, they were perfect for each other, no small talk, just cut right to the chase. "I'm not really hungry," he added, the thought of eating totally uninspiring. "I'm just going to do a few more laps, and…"

She cut him off. "I don't recall saying that it was open for discussion, breakfast in fourteen and a half now. And if you're not sitting at the table with a knife and fork in your hands in that time then you're going to find that knife and fork in an extremely uncomfortable place." She'd seen him picking at his food last night, and Heather had told her on the phone when she'd called her earlier in the week, that he still wasn't eating properly.

"Yes, ma'am," he moved quickly to the steps, Kate handing him his towel when he got out. He ran it over his hair; then draped it around his shoulders. She put her hand up and traced her thumb over a few of the scars on his chest, many of them still fairly visible.

"My husband does good work." She commented, Boone's shoulders' hunching as he tried, feeling horribly self-conscious, to shrink away from her. He wrapped the towel around himself the second she dropped her hand. "It would have been a shame if he'd gone to all that trouble for nothing." She added, meaningfully.

He glanced at the scars on his wrist and looked a bit ashamed. "Yeah, I'm sure that's all I was thinking about, was Jack." He quipped, forcing the humour.

"Oh, Boone," Kate said with a smile as she pulled him into a hug, not caring that he was soaking wet. "You're such an idiot, and you're so precious, for god's sake just go on that date."

"Jack told you?" He was a bit surprised.

"Pillow talk," she let him go.

"Uh, is this conversation included in the fifteen minutes I started with?" He asked half joking.

"Absolutely, I think you're down to twelve now." She confirmed.

"Then I'd better get in the house. If my time runs out and I'm still in the shower, I don't think that me naked with shampoo in my hair is going to make for a very pleasant breakfast companion, cause I sure didn't like the sound of the alternative if I'm not there in time." He winced as he pictured it.

"Hurry then." Kate turned him towards the house, laughing as he jogged across the lawn.

When Boone got out of the shower, Andrew was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat waiting for him. He started a bit and exclaimed at the unexpected audience as the boy slid to his feet and brought his dad a towel. He thanked him and started up a conversation.

Moving hurriedly, mindful of Kate's deadline, he finished up quickly in the bathroom, and headed for his bedroom, Andrew following him and watching while he dressed. Finally Boone asked his self appointed shadow what was up.

"I like school, Boone; it's fun, but I really miss being with you all day." He explained.

"I miss you too, bud," he knelt down on one knee and opened his arms catching the boy in a hug, after he raced across the carpet.

Kate knew how important it was to Boone to feel needed and productive, so after breakfast she announced that he was coming grocery shopping with her. She also wanted to spend some time alone with him, but from the way Andrew had glommed on to him all morning, she figured the chance of that was nil.

Boone had been right about them planning a get together for his visit, everyone was expected later that afternoon. In fact, Claire had already called that morning to confirm their attendance and to find out what she could bring. The trip to the grocery store was to pick up supplies for the party. Jack had volunteered to stay behind with Jessica, saying that he had work to do.

They took Kate's car, Boone wanting to leave his loaner at the house in case his was ready and the car lot sent someone round to make the swap. He'd given them Jack's address when he'd dropped it off, and as a long time customer of the decidedly upscale automobile dealership, he merited the preferential treatment, though he certainly never expected it. The three of them, Andrew predictably having elected to come with them, headed for the local market.

Kate's normally tedious and despised chore of grocery shopping, somehow transformed itself into a pleasure, and a bit of a lesson, in the company of the two Carlyle's. In the pasta section she was amused when Boone took the package of regular fusilli out of her hand, substituting whole wheat instead. When it came to the eggs, Andrew told her she was getting the wrong ones and pointed to the Omega Three's, and whatever Boone discussed with the guy at the seafood counter left her wondering what language they were speaking. In the produce area they completely ignored her as she headed for the peppers, instead steering the cart over to the organics. It took her a moment to realize she was talking to empty space, before she headed over to eaves drop on their extremely serious seeming discussion over which exotic selections they wanted for the fruit salad. Serious seeming until Boone grinned at her over the top of Andrew's head and winked. He became totally serious again, as Andrew continued to point out the merits of the passion fruit.

Back home, she started to give them a bit of direction, but was quickly relegated to third fiddle as Boone pulled a chair up to the sink for Andrew to stand on and got him started on scrubbing the potatoes for the potato salad, and gave her a task as well. Eventually she ended up, baby in her arms, sitting at the table as the two of them almost completely silently got everything ready. One or the other would speak occasionally, but anyone who didn't know they were actually communicating with each other almost constantly would have found their verbal exchanges truly bizarre.

"I'm not." Andrew pouted, as Boone looked over his shoulder.

A few minutes later Boone looked up, "Oh, it's right here," and handed over some kitchen tool of some kind.

"They aren't, Boone," Andrew complained, Boone moving over to look at what he was doing, shaking his head and correcting him.

Kate just sat back and enjoyed the entertainment.

The two of them accomplished everything in the kitchen far more quickly than she could have done on her own, she conceded, as Boone started putting the plastic wrap topped bowls in the fridge.

She went to check on Jack, and when she got back the kitchen was empty.

She found Boone sitting on a chair in the back yard, a bottle of water in his hands hanging between his knees, Andrew sitting on the grass nearby. "Those tables aren't going to put themselves out, you know."

He took a deep breath, "What did your last slave die of?" He asked, smirking.

"I had him shot after asking that same question," she responded, deadpan.

"Yes, my mistress, I live only to do your bidding." He rolled his eyes, but smiled and got to his feet, heading for the storage shed, Andrew dutifully following along.

Kate managed to keep finding chores for them through out most of the rest of the day.

Jack came out of the back door, having finally finished most of the work he'd brought home with him, and scanned the yard, Boone and Andrew were no where no be seen, however, so he followed his sense of them around to the side of the house. They were both sitting on the ground with their backs up against the wall, their eyes closed and their faces tipped up to the sun. "Why aren't you sitting in the lawn chairs around back?"

"We're hiding from Kate," Andrew piped up.

"That so? And why would that be?" Jack directed his question back to the boy.

"Cause she keeps making us do stuff." He explained.

"She does?" Both Jack and Boone were trying not to laugh.

"Yeah," Andrew nodded, "And, and…Boone's tired." There was no way he was going to admit that he was actually the one who was tired.

"He is, is he?" Jack looked at the subject of their conversation, who suddenly managed to look as exhausted as if he'd single-handedly dug the Panama Canal.

"Yeah," he nodded again. "And he's not as young as he used to be, so he gets tired easier." It was something he'd heard Tom say to Heather, though it had been about Tom himself not Boone.

Boone lost the battle and snorted out his nose, unable to contain himself any longer he broke out laughing, Jack joining in, as Andrew scowled at them.

"You mind getting your poor tired ancient dad a bottle of water?" Boone asked him. Andrew crossed his arms over his chest and continued pouting, not pleased at being laughed at, and not getting up either.

"I'm sorry bud, you're right, I am a little tired, and I'm thirsty. If you get me some water, we can share." Boone tried to make a little peace.

Andrew's face relaxed, and his arms uncrossed, he pinched his lips together and shook his head, rolling his eyes, managing to look exactly like his mother in one of her many moments of exasperation with Boone. Pushing himself to his feet, he disappeared around the corner of the house.

Jack and Boone moved to the far more comfortable lawn chairs in the shade of one of the umbrellas that Boone and Andrew had set up that day, Jack apologizing for Kate's endless list of chores.

"I think she's done with us now though. That is, unless she wants me to retile the roof or rotate the tires on her car." Suddenly Boone wondered if perhaps he'd spoken a little too quickly, the woman had quite the knack for coming up with projects.

"No, I'm pretty sure she's saving those for me." Jack assured him with a grin.

"Before Andrew gets back I've got a question for you. Actually it's more Kate's question; she wasn't pleased that I didn't ask it." Jack shrugged, "woman thing."

"Ask away," Boone had no idea what was coming next.

"So just who is this woman who merits Boone Carlyle's return to dating?" Jack asked actually a little intrigued.

"Wellll..." He drew the word out, looking a little embarrassed, "See, that's where it get a little complicated."

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Why am I not surprised, everything with you is always a little complicated. What is it this time, your first cousin?"

"It's Andrews' teacher." Boone responded, hesitantly

"Andrews' teacher?" Jack echoed.

"Yeah," Boone confirmed.

"The school might have policies against that, you know, Boone." Jack warned him, "Possible conflict of interest and all."

"I know. That's one of the reasons I said it was complicated. And, I mean, me, dating, I don't know how he's going to take that," Boone looked worried, "even if it _was_ someone he didn't know. But this is a woman he sees every day, and she's an authority figure to him. I don't know if it'd all be just too weird. Ah, it's probably pointless to even worry about, I doubt I'll have the nerve to ask her anyway." Jack noticed that he already looked defeated.

"Not if you're thinking like that, you won't. Just do it, Boone. I'm sure you've asked lots of girls out on dates before, it can't have been this hard for you then."

He appreciated Jack's encouragement, but still wasn't convinced. "That was then, I'm not that person anymore. I'm out of practice, and I sure as hell don't have the self-confidence I did then." He fell silent as Andrew came out the back door with his requested bottle of water.

He held it out for Boone and climbed up in his lap when he reached them, they started a different topic of conversation, as the two of them passed the bottle back and forth.

"Aaron's here!" Andrew suddenly announced, sliding off Boone's knees and running for the side gate, the two men, getting a sense of Claire and her family's arrival as well, followed behind.


	10. Chapter 10

The party went quite well, everyone managed to show up, making the extra effort to be available that particular evening, mostly to see Boone. They all lived in or around the greater Los Angeles area, except for him, so the rest of them saw each other fairly regularly, getting together one on one or in small groups. He felt a bit like a king holding court, as friend after friend, pulled him to one side him to find out how he was doing.

He'd spoken privately to Jack, before any one other than the Pace's had shown up, telling him to keep the thing about Andrews' teacher strictly to himself, at least her identity, including trying to mask it from Andrew. The dating thing was a pretty big step, so he knew Jack would probably end up revealing that information, Boone himself wanted too as well, he just didn't want the _who_ part of it to come out.

He'd discussed the possibility of him dating with Andrew when they'd been sitting in the sun beside the house earlier but hadn't disclosed the fact that it was Miss Phillips he might actually ask out, and he didn't want to run the risk of the boy randomly picking it out of someone's head. Given the way the talent had evolved, even Boone, with his somewhat limited ability, could, to a certain degree, still read quite a few of their circle of survivor friends, but Andrew got their thoughts with barely a conscious effort, unlike the focus he had to give to reading outsiders. Though with Aaron there, Boone figured he'd be too busy playing with the other boy to actually read anyone else's thoughts.

Andrew had an easier time with the concept of Boone dating than he'd anticipated. He didn't really remember Shannon at all, other than the photographs, and what he got out of Boone's head, so Boone thought that maybe that was why he didn't think it would be strange. If he didn't have any memories of his own of his dad with his mom, or in fact of his dad with _any_ woman, then it wasn't as if Boone was trying to get him to accept someone else as a replacement. And if there was a chance that it'd make his father happy, then he was all behind the idea. Boone had waited anxiously to see if the boy would ask who, but he'd seemed to consider it as a discussion about Boone's dating as a general possibility, not realizing that Boone already had someone in mind.

It was a good thing that he _had_ spoken to Jack. Almost everyone went to him first, given that he'd already spent almost a full twenty-four hours with Boone, to find out just how Boone was doing, trying to get some inside information before approaching Boone himself. They'd corner Jack; then stealing a poorly concealed glance at Boone, ask with genuine concern, "How's he doing, Jack, _really_?"

Jack was more than happy to respond that Boone was doing well, in fact he was thinking of dating. When asked who, Jack, in keeping with Boone's request for confidentiality, would reply, "You'll have to ask him that."

Even Sawyer showed up, insisting that it was only because of the free eats and booze, but Boone had a completely different take on it. Sawyer showed up because these people were more his family than any he'd had since early childhood, and he loved, and _was_ loved by each and every one of them, himself included, Boone grudgingly acknowledged privately. He was still annoying as hell of course, but everyone had a relative that they both loved and despised. Aaron and Andrew seemed to naturally gravitate to him. They'd pounced on Sawyer, snuck up on him, wrestled him to the ground, and just generally bugged the shit out of him, but the guy was still, with a roll of his eyes, and a put upon air, playing with them. Boone guessed that Sawyer was secretly enjoying it as much as they were. Maybe it was because Sawyers' own childhood had been so grim, and this gave him a chance to relive it more happily than the first go round.

As Boone stood at the barbecue, grilling some seafood, surrounded by the happy sounds of people having a good time together, he felt like he was part of something bigger than himself, something sustaining; something that he'd, forgivably, two years before, lost sight of living for, his own immediate concerns outweighing the bigger picture of the whole group. These people cared for him, and he'd let them all down, though they sure had come through for him.

"Dude," Hurley intruded on his thoughts.

"Hey," Boone responded.

"Ma sent those enchiladas especially for you." He'd brought his mothers' black bean and rice specialties that she knew Boone loved, and she'd put extra chiles in them, just the way he liked.

"Tell your mom they were muy bueno," he threw out one of the few Spanish terms he actually knew, Hurley had taught him a limited number during his physical therapy sessions with the guy on the island. He'd been proud of himself earlier, as well, when he'd trotted his infrequently used Korean out in a conversation with Jin, and had managed not to make a fool out of himself. He'd gotten quite proficient at the language before they'd been rescued, but the fact that he had rarely used it any more kind of made it difficult to keep fresh.

"She'll be happy to hear that, she sure does like you, dude. She was real sorry she couldn't come tonight, therapy session for my brother, though." The psyches in the Reyes household must have been pretty fragile, because his brother had never actually recovered from being left for another woman, Boone could kind of sympathise, though not with the other woman part, just with the need for therapy. "She'd like it a lot if you guys could come for a visit."

"But I just talked to her on Monday, she called about Andrew's first day of school." Boone answered.

"Yeah, but you know ma, that's not the same as seeing you. She needs to pinch your cheek and tell you you're too thin, and hug Andrew and point out that he's grown." Hugo shrugged and smiled.

"We'll try," was the best Boone could promise, he didn't like imposing on Tom and Heather too often by leaving for weekends.

The rest of the evening passed companionably, they all just got along so well, it was so instinctive, even disagreements were inconsequential, and they'd all had those. But the horrors of the island, the fear, the panic, the deprivation, had bonded them together even more strongly than family.

Jack wondered how long it would take before someone would decide to go skinny-dipping in the pool. The communal living that they had all been forced into had at first weakened, then completely destroyed the barriers of the usual standards of modesty, so casual nudity on the island had eventually become a non-issue. It hadn't been as if people had purposely walked around naked, it was just that eventually they'd bathed and changed clothes in front of each other without embarrassment. He wasn't surprised that the attempt at skinny-dipping was just as darkness fell, and that it was Sawyer.

He was pouring himself a drink when he looked over and saw that the guy was standing by the pool, shucking his clothes. He rushed over just as Sawyer was pulling off his boxers, stopping him. He had this one particularly nosy neighbour who absolutely delighted in calling the cops whenever she could. He could just imagine the scene as the chief of surgery of the foremost of the cities' major hospitals was arrested for breaking some indecency law, even though it _was_ his own back yard, and it _was_ LA, where pretty much anything went.

Sawyer was floating now on an inflatable air mattress, his underwear in place, a plastic glass full of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the orange glow of the ember at its' end acting as a beacon indicating his position.

Boone hadn't been far behind him in getting into the pool, any water had always beckoned to him like a sirens' call; he'd always imagined that perhaps he'd been a dolphin in a former incarnation. After wrapping himself in the familiar warmth of the water, diving and ducking over and over, he'd finally stood and moved to a corner of the shallow end, crouching down and submerging himself up to his chin, just observing.

Claire saw him, and figuring that this was her best opportunity to get him alone, peeled down to bra and panties, picking up a couple of plastic tumblers of iced tea she walked down the pool stairs and over to him.

"Hey," she held out one of the glasses.

"Hey," Boone rose and took the proffered cup, "thanks."

The conversation that ensued was particularly personal, their relationship so close because of the similarities in their characters'; sweet, considerate, gentle; there was a lot they had in common, finally Claire brought up the topic they had all been gossiping about.

"So, you're thinking of dating?" she observed with a smile.

"Is everyone talking about my love life? Or lack thereof." Boone asked; she wasn't the first who'd spoken to him about this.

"No not everyone, I don't think Walt's said anything about it yet." Claire responded, jokingly.

"Funny." He responded, dryly.

She laughed, and put her cup on the pool ledge, turning around and moving to lean back against him as he looped his arms around her shoulders. He let them hang down in front of her, and clasped his hands together; she brought hers up and hooked them over his. The conversation continued as he rested his chin on the top of her head, feeling contented.

"You making a move on my wife, there, mate?" Charlie sat, a little unsteadily, on the edge of the pool beside them and unceremoniously plunged his jean clad legs into the water.

"Charlie, you're going to get the car all wet," Claire complained. "We're almost ready to leave and now your pants are soaked."

"Took me shoes and socks off though, luv," he pointed out a little proudly.

"Oh, Charlie," she shook her head, and nestled back into Boone a little more.

"So, the little blighter's started school then." He commented a bit drunkenly to Boone, who nodded. "Must be nice not having him screaming around the house, I know I appreciated it when Aaron went off to kindergarten last year, and it's even better now with him gone full days. I can't wait till the younger one's off too, they make so much bloody noise."

Claire pulled away from him, "Charlie Pace, you sound as if you hate your own children, and as far as noise goes, I think that when she's old enough Sarah's going to be saying to me, 'Mum, it's so nice when da's way on tour, we get a break from the _noise_ of his strangling guitar, and high pitched whiny singing!"

"Strangling guitar!" he repeated, pretending to be outraged, not mentioning the whiny singing. "Is that what she thinks? That strangling guitar's put a roof over her head and food on the table."

Boone tuned out their mock argument, only aware of the sense of abandonment that had come over him when Claire had left his embrace. He walked behind them and left the pool, picking up his clothes and heading for the house.

Heading down the hall to his room, he stopped to look in on Andrew. He was sound asleep, Aaron as well, in his sleeping bag on the floor beside the bed. After checking with Jack, he'd asked Claire to leave him overnight, but they had a Scout meeting first thing in the morning so she was just going to carry him to the car when they left. The boys had finally given in to the lure of sleep around nine; it was just approaching midnight now.

Passing Jessica's room, he noticed that the light was on and the door ajar, he paused and slowly pushed it fully open. Kate was feeding her daughter, and looked up at the motion. "Boone," she smiled warmly, not the least bit embarrassed to be caught breast feeding, "Come in." she invited.

"Hey," he responded, entering at her request, crossing over to them and reaching out a hand to caress the baby's cheek with the back of his index finger. He watched them for a bit, "I used to get such a kick when Shan would do this."

"Yeah, it's pretty special." Kate agreed, glancing up she noticed how sad he looked. "What is it, Boone, what's wrong now?"

He folded his jeans and put them on the carpet, sitting on them, mindful of the wet state of his boxers, and wrapped his arms around his legs. He told her about how holding Claire had felt, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He sighed heavily, "You know how they say 'all alone in a crowded room,' that's how I felt when she pulled away from me. I'm so lonely Kate, I just want someone who'll let me love them." He dropped his head on his knees.

"Aww, baby," Kate reached out a hand and ran it through his hair. "Give it time, it'll come. Take this young woman out, whoever she is, see where it goes. You deserve happiness, Boone."

Jack appeared at the door, Kate gave him a look that spoke volumes; he nodded in affirmation. "There you are Boone. People were wondering where you'd gotten to."

"I was going to bed." He raised his head, blinking back the tears.

"Not without saying goodnight you're not." Jack crossed the room and held out his hand; Boone grasped it and was pulled to his feet. "You're the guest of honour, they all want to say goodnight before they leave."

He allowed himself to be brought outside again, feeling a little like a show dog.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack shuffled down the hall, dressed in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, the enticing smell of freshly brewed coffee, and something baking, not only making him feel more awake, but also confirming the sense that he had of Boone's presence. As he neared the kitchen he could hear the rustling of a page of a newspaper being turned.

He stopped at the entryway to the kitchen. Boone was sitting at the kitchen table, the paper on its' surface in front of him, a mug beside it. He had his right ankle up on his left knee and was massaging his shin. Jack looked the other way, across the living room and out through the sliding glass door not surprised to see an overcast sky.

"You planning on wearing right through that denim?" He asked.

"Huh?" Boone looked up a bit startled, he'd been focusing on what he was reading and hadn't picked up on Jack's approach.

Jack nodded towards his still moving hand. Boone followed his gaze, "Oh," he pulled his hand away and put his foot down on the floor, he hadn't even been aware of what he'd been doing. "Sorry," he apologized; he knew Jack felt bad that the leg still bothered him sometimes, though Boone sure didn't hold the guy responsible for it at all. "Morning, Jack."

"Yeah, you want something for it?" He nodded at the leg again.

"No, it's not that bad, and I'm used to it. Don't even limp on it any more, it just aches when it's going to rain is all." Boone shrugged, diminishing the nagging of the dull throbbing that had woken him much earlier than he would have liked. He really didn't want to make a big thing out of it in front of Jack.

"Say that with a bit more conviction and I might even believe you." Jack shook his head and went to pour himself some coffee. He noticed that the light was on for the oven and he could smell cinnamon. "What are you making?"

Boone looked up again from his paper, "French Toast casserole."

"Are we having bacon with that?" Jack asked with a straight face.

Boone quirked an eyebrow and looked at him as if he thought Jack had perhaps fallen and given himself a concussion or suffered some other kind of head trauma.

"I take it that'd be a no, then," Jack laughed at the expression on Boone's face.

They left in the early afternoon, the goodbyes sincere and the promises to see each other again as soon as possible, heartfelt.

The rain that had threatened in the morning became a torrential downpour on the drive home, the gusts of wind buffeting the car so strongly that Boone had a bit of a struggle keeping it in its' lane. He was a more than a little tired, and very happy indeed, when he pushed the button for the garage door and pulled the car into the relative safety of the structure.

He was awkward around Pamela that week almost, but not quite, coming close to asking her out a few times. It was a very nervous Boone who came to pick Andrew up on the Friday; he'd spent the whole day giving himself an ongoing silent pep talk and was determined that he was finally going to do it. He'd decided that an after dinner coffee would be a great ice breaker, just long enough to get a feel for one another, but not the awkward scene of an extended dinner out, especially if they found they didn't like each other.

Andrew was waiting just inside the door, the way he always was, his greetings had gotten a little less enthusiastic however, as he became more used to school, and being parted from Boone for the day. Instead of running up to him and hugging him, the boy now just smiled his version of his mothers' best smile and said, "Hi Boone."

Boone ruffled his hair and asked him to wait for him for a sec, then headed for the front of the room, just hoping that the butterflies in his stomach weren't going to cause him to throw up all over himself, or god forbid, Pamela.

Pamela, of course, had been aware of his presence since the moment he'd entered, but she forced herself to keep her head bowed over her papers instead of raising it to stare at him the way she wanted to. She was therefore startled when she heard someone clear their throat right by her elbow. Her head snapped up, and she felt a little giddy as she found her gaze met by the grey eyes she considered so mesmerizing. "Mr. Carlyle," she smiled, hoping she didn't look quite as dazed as she felt.

"Hi," his eyes slid away from hers and he turned his head at bit. He hadn't even felt this nervous when he'd asked Sandy Brown to his grade eight graduation party, and that had been his first date. "Would you, uhm, would you maybe like to get a coffee or something with me tomorrow night?" And just like that it was done, the pressure was off, he'd actually managed to ask her out, and whether she said yes or not, he felt like he'd just taken a huge step forward in his life.

Pamela was stunned, "A coffee?" she repeated, a bit stupidly. Had he just asked her for a date, or had the world just exploded and this was her hallucination in her last moments?

He met her eyes again, and nodded, biting his lip, waiting for her answer.

She swallowed, "I'd love to." She managed to choke out.

Boone smiled and took a deep breath, okay then, no rejection, he was relieved. "What time should I pick you up?" This was getting easier, he felt himself relaxing a bit.

Pamela thought about the bike, she'd never been on one, and while she was certain that he was a very good rider, and she so wanted to be on the back seat of his, her arms wrapped around his waist, her knees tight against his thighs, she still told him no. "There's a café near my apartment, I'll meet you there at eight."

They finalized the plans; all Boone had to do now was tell Andrew.

It actually went a little worse than he'd anticipated, he figured it'd be smooth sailing after how easily the boy had taken the whole 'dating' subject in stride. After lunch on Saturday, he asked Andrew if he'd come sit with him in the den for a minute.

"Kay Boone," Andrew agreed. Boone shot Heather a look over his head, wincing a little, the 'wish me luck' look evident on his face. She smiled in encouragement, knowing about his plans for the evening.

"I've got to go out for a bit after dinner." He advised his son, once they were settled.

"Why?" Andrew looked worried.

"It's nothing bad, bud." Boone immediately reassured him, but the boy continued to frown in concern. It broke Boone's heart a little that Andrew felt the need to worry about him so much. "You remember the dating thing we talked about?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm going on one tonight." Boone smiled a lot more brightly than was necessary, trying to put the boy at ease.

"Who with?" Andrew asked immediately.

"With whom," Boone corrected automatically.

"I don't know, you haven't told me yet," Andrew replied before Boone could continue.

"No," he shook his head and ran his hands over his face, jeeze but the kid could be annoying at times, "I meant…oh, never mind." Boone started again, "It's with Miss Phillips."

Andrews' eyes got wide, "Miss Phillips from school?" he asked.

Boone nodded.

"Will she still be my teacher?" He wanted to know.

Boone looked confused, "Yeah, of course she'll still be your teacher," he wondered where that question came from.

"Even if she's my new mom? I don't know if I want a new mom. I like just having you." He screwed his face up as if he was going to start crying.

"Hey, hold on a minute here, it's only a date, and I thought you were okay with that." Boone moved over to sit beside him on the couch, angling himself on the cushion.

"I didn't know it was Miss Phillips." He got just a little closer to tears.

"I won't go. If you don't want me to I won't." Boone tried not to look disappointed; it wasn't too hard, Andrew was more important to him than any date could possibly be. "But, Andrew, I'm not planning on anything more than having a coffee with her right now."

"You don't even drink coffee." He pointed out, still pouting.

'Oh God,' Boone thought, ready to throw in the towel at this point, "It's just a term, a phrase; I don't _literally_ mean I'm going to have coffee."

"Then why did you say it?" Though he was driving Boone nuts, at least he didn't look like he was going to cry anymore.

By the end of the discussion Boone was ready to tear his hair out, though he'd gotten Andrew to a place where he was now okay with his dad's plans for the evening.

Knowing his penchant for punctuality, Pamela timed her arrival for exactly eight; she heard the roar of the motorcycle just as she approached the brightly lit façade of the cafe. As he pulled up to the curb and switched off the ignition, she was bothered about something different in the bike he was riding. He noticed her puzzled look, just as she got it. "Single seat," she said.

It took Boone a moment to figure out what she was talking about. "Yeah, it's my w….other bike." He bit off the word 'wife's' just in time. She didn't appear to notice his slip.

As she preceded him into the café, she frowned a bit in consternation, _two_ motorcycles, how could he afford that?

Boone waited for her to order then asked for a pot of boiling water for himself. After he paid, over her objection, they seated themselves at a table, Boone pulling her chair out for her. He extracted a small packet out of one of his inside jacket pockets, and tapped some of its contents into the pot. Pamela looked at him questioningly.

He grinned and shrugged a bit self consciously, "Green tea. I'm pretty picky, and I've got a Korean friend who gets this for me."

"Ahhh, okay, that explains it then." She nodded and looked like she was remembering something.

Boone shook his head, "Explains what?"

She told him about overhearing Andrew mumbling to himself in class one day while he was working on his math, it had sounded like gibberish until she'd realized that it was some foreign language. When she'd asked him about it, he'd told her that he was counting in Korean.

"So you're a local boy?" In the back story she'd somehow come to attribute to him, this was another one of the things that Pamela had incorrectly assumed.

"No, I'm from LA, we've lived here just a little shy of five years," Boone corrected; then asked about her origins. When he found out she was from New York, he laughed, "No way, I went to University in New York."

Most of the rest of the evening was spent talking about Manhattan, the subway system, the crazy cabbies, and the fantastic night life.

He walked her the five minutes to her apartment. She was just as impressed with him as she'd thought she'd be. He was so incredibly gorgeous that he could so easily have been obnoxious and arrogant, but he was shy, awkward and unfailingly polite. Boone thought she was funny, intelligent and very, very pretty, with her short black hair and dark brown eyes, and the fact that she was at least three inches shorter than he, definitely a plus in his eyes.

"I think this is the part where you kiss me goodnight." Pamela prompted, as they stood under the street light in front of her building.

Boone just looked at her, panic racing through his mind. He hadn't really thought this far ahead. When he'd asked her out, he'd just been looking for someone to talk to, at least initially. He hadn't really gotten to the kissing part when he'd played the evening out in his head.

She frowned at his hesitation, "Unless you don't want to," she tried not to sound too disappointed.

He snapped himself out of it. "It's just, uhm," he bit his lip and looked at the pavement for a second, then back up at her. "I haven't done this in a really long time."

"I kind of got that," she smiled, "but you're doing okay so far. I'd give you at least a six out of ten."

"Six? I only get a six, that's barely passing." Boone groused.

"I'll up it to an eight if you kiss me," Pamela negotiated.

"I'll have to lodge a complaint with the rules committee, that the New York judge can be bribed." The kidding was helping him relax, just as she'd thought it would. She'd learned a fair bit about how to deal with people, you had to in her profession, though most of them had been children, this was the first time she'd tried it on a twenty-eight year old.

"Duly noted, seeing as I'm also the entire rules committee. I'll have her reprimanded." She took a step closer to him.

Screwing up his courage, Boone leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, then not feeling as much like the cheating shit he'd worried he would, he kissed her again, more firmly, pressing his closed lips against hers, then pulling back slowly.

She opened her eyes, and smiled softly, "Maybe an eight and a half." She tried not to show that she was shaking on the inside. She'd kissed him, or more correctly he'd kissed her, she'd dreamt of that, and she was having a hard time processing that it had actually happened.

He smirked, looking a bit embarrassed, but actually feeling pretty proud of himself. "I guess that qualifies me for the bronze?"

"Seeing as you're the only competitor, I think you just won gold." Pamela advised him.

He smiled and nodded, "Night then, Pamela."

"Goodnight Boone, I'll see you Monday." She reached out and gave his arm a brief squeeze.

He turned and walked away, stuffing his hands in his pockets then pulling them right back out again, closing his eyes briefly he grinned to himself at how happy he felt. Unfortunately the toe of his boot caught the leading edge of a slightly elevated sidewalk tile and he tripped. He managed to regain his balance before he actually fell to the ground; grateful that he _had_ pulled his hands out of his pockets, if not he would have done a total face plant. He glanced behind himself, hoping that Pamela hadn't been watching, but the sidewalk was blessedly empty. He heaved a sigh of relief and continued on his way.

Pamela peered around the corner of the doorway, she'd been watching him and seen him almost fall, thinking that he'd probably check to see if she was still there she'd stepped quickly back into the entrance to the building. She brought her fingers up and touched her lips, remembering the sensation of his against them; she unlocked the front door and headed up to her apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

Boone awoke the next morning, still kind of on a high from the night before. He was pleased not just because they'd hit it off, but also because he'd comported himself well. He lay in bed for a bit, not in any rush, the three of them never worked on weekends, there were more than enough local high school kids looking for jobs that he'd hired full coverage for the two days, as well as for after five p.m. every weekday. 

He decided that a bit of a road trip was in the cards for the day. Andrew had wanted to go camping for the weekend, but they'd just been away, and he didn't like leaving Tom and Heather with sole responsibility for a business that was no longer theirs, but a half day trip appealed to him.

After breakfast he and Andrew headed for the farmers' market in the next town. In the car, Andrew asked how his date had gone, to which Boone replied very positively, then started worrying about the information getting out at school. He continued mulling it over while they browsed leisurely through the different stalls; Boone buying lots of fresh fruit and produce, both for themselves and to incorporate into baked goods for sale.

Andrew went on the pony rides, twice, Boone walking beside the shaggy beast, feeling more than a little sorry for the poor creatures' monotonous existence. Then he bought them each a frozen yoghurt, which they enjoyed sitting at a table beside the pony corral.

He'd checked the school's web site for the code of teacher conduct, and hadn't found anything prohibiting Pamela from seeing him. But that didn't mean that it wouldn't be a little awkward if it got out, and he didn't want to put her in any kind of compromising position. Boone knew that just telling Andrew to keep it a secret was not only a recipe for disaster, because what five-year-old actually kept a secret without being given a pretty good reason, but was also extremely unfair to the boy. He was already keeping the ESP to himself, how much else could Boone possibly expect of him?

"Hey bud?" He thought he had it figured out.

"Yeah Boone?" Andrew tore his eyes away from the circling equines.

"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at school about me and Miss Phillips." Boone asked, making it sound like a favour.

"Kay Boone, but why?" He frowned, immediately coming back with the question Boone had anticipated.

"Well, remember how you thought that maybe she wouldn't be your teacher any more?" Boone prompted.

Andrew nodded, "But you said she would be." He whined a bit.

"Yeah, that's not going to change," he assured him. "But instead, they might say that _I_ can't see her anymore, because she's your teacher. And that'd make me sad, really, really sad." It wasn't untrue, he'd found his spirits significantly elevated by the success of the previous evening.

"I don't like it when you're sad." Andrew looked concerned, he scooted a little closer to Boone, and reached for his hand.

"I don't like it when I'm sad either." Boone smiled down at him. "So you think that you can keep this just between us?"

"Kay Boone." He agreed immediately.

Boone hugged him. "You're the best."

Boone held off calling until Tuesday night. Of course he'd seen Pamela at school when he'd gone to pick Andrew up, she'd been at her desk both times, and had smiled warmly at him, but he wanted this to be separate from school, and he was sure she did too. It was an impression supported by the fact that she hadn't approached him either afternoon.

Pamela had also been a little concerned that Andrew might say something. She hadn't asked Boone about it, but figured, given what she'd seen of their relationship, that he would have told his son about their date. She kept her personal life strictly personal, never discussing anything that wasn't directly related to her duties with any of her colleagues. It kept her kind of isolated, and she was certain that it made her seem a bit standoffish, but she'd seen too many instances with others where the alternative had turned out badly. But, pleasantly, other than telling her privately that Boone had had a good time, and strangely thanking her for that, Andrew seemed to act like it had never happened.

Boone figured the natural progression in the dating process was asking her out to dinner, so when she answered her phone after the third ring, that's what he suggested.

"Friday?" She tried to sound casual, just wanting to immediately blurt out yes. If he could have seen her, he would have thought she was infected by some strange neurological disorder. She was shaking and bouncing on her feet, the hand that didn't have a death grip on the receiver pressed to her chest in excitement. "Okay, sounds good."

"Okay, then," he sighed in relief. He'd been steeling himself for disappointment, her hesitation making him momentarily wish he'd never called. "I'll pick you up at seven."

"Uh, Boone, do you think you could, maybe, get to use the car?" She was still a little nervous about the idea of the bike. She wasn't sure about him and the car though, it was a Friday night, and the people he worked for would probably be in town and would need the vehicle.

Get to use the car? He wondered at the strange way she'd worded the question. "Yes, I'll bring the car." He'd be planning to anyway.

She'd only been waiting in the vestibule for a few seconds when he pulled up at the curb. He was half way around the trunk when he noticed her crossing the sidewalk towards him; smiling in greeting he pulled open the passenger door for her.

She took a moment to take him all in before she slid into the passenger seat.

He had taken time selecting his attire and was wearing a long sleeved blue sweater, the ribbed cuffs snug around his wrists, he'd been careful about that, and a dressy pair of jeans, his usual black boots on his feet. His hair still looked like it had been combed with a rake, however, or perhaps not at all.

He wasn't aware of it, but the colour of the sweater did amazing things to his eyes. Pamela was tempted to kiss him hello, as she stared into them, but remembering how unsure of himself he'd been the previous week about the kissing, she decided against it, it was only their second date.

"I hope you like Italian." Boone commented, sliding behind the wheel.

"Of course, who doesn't?" Pamela assured him

He pulled carefully out onto the almost deserted street and headed the ten minutes to the restaurant he'd chosen. He asked her about school, and how her week had gone, the conversation casual and friendly.

Boone, of course, had made reservations, so their table was ready and waiting for them. The waiter took their drink order; then they sat perusing their menus. Pamela had already decided when she'd accepted the invitation, that they'd be splitting the cheque. She was even more set on it now that she'd ordered a glass of wine, and Boone only a mineral water. For his part, Boone was impressed that she hadn't been uncomfortable having a drink when he was only getting water, he knew a lot of women would have been flustered and changed their minds.

"So, tell me a little about yourself," she requested, after they'd placed their food order and she'd taken a sip of the delicious Australian Shiraz. "I don't know much other than what's obvious and the fact that you went to NYU."

Boone froze, so many things going through his mind that he figured, if he'd been an android, there would have been smoke coming out his ears as his positronic net short circuited and his brain melted. 'I'm married to my sister, I've tried to kill myself, I have ESP, I was in a plane crash, I killed a man,'…the list of horrifying truths seemed endlessly overwhelming.

Pamela watched, puzzled that her casual question had been met with what could only be called a deer in the headlights reaction. Maybe he was a serial killer, or something worse, she worried, he sure looked like he had something to hide. But he was so gentle and shy, she reflected. Though didn't most people, when faced with the fact that they'd lived next door to a Ted Bundy type, say that they never would have expected it? She decided to prompt him with a slightly less general request. "You said you moved here from LA five years ago, how come?"

Boone reached for his water, almost knocking it over before wrapping his hand around the glass, and successfully manoeuvring it to his lips. "It was too big and noisy, and the smog was a problem. We'd been away for over a year and needed someplace quieter. I knew I had to go back to work, but I didn't want my old job back. I'd loved it, but it just wasn't what I wanted anymore, so we came here." It all sounded so simple, but he knew that it wasn't, and that he was leaving enough out to fill a library.

While what she really wanted to know about was the year away that he'd glossed over so casually, she reined in her curiosity a bit, and instead asked about what the job was that he used to have.

"I ran a company, apparel, wedding dresses and stuff." It had once been so important to him, a real source of pride. He remembered mentioning it whenever he could, now he was ashamed at how shallow it had been.

"So," she started, interrupted by the arrival of their appetizers. They took a couple of minutes with the food.

"Your turn," Boone jumped in when it looked like she was going to start asking personal questions again. "Or my turn? I'm not sure which."

"What?" Pamela shook her head.

"You got to ask me a question, so now I get to ask you one." He clarified.

The discussion about how she'd become a teacher lasted through the first course and into the second. Boone tried every trick in his not inconsiderable book of them, to keep her talking, trying to postpone when it would be 'her turn' again.

"So any brothers or sisters?" She figured it was a pretty innocuous query, but he just looked panicked again.

When she was talking about herself Boone was relaxed and thoroughly enjoying himself, now that he was the subject of conversation again, he felt like he was naked on centre stage at Madison Square Gardens, a full auditorium in attendance. His heart hammered in his chest, just how did he answer this one? Was Shannon his sister, his wife, or even either anymore?

"A step-sister, I guess. I mean, my step-father was killed in a car accident just over eight years ago, so I don't know if she'd still qualify as my sister." He thought it was the truth.

Pamela offered her condolences at his loss, and his sisters'.

Boone had actually really liked Adam; his own father had died when he was so young that Shan's dad was really the only father that he truly remembered.

Pamela was an only child, she revealed.

Pamela looked at him, and the patches of bright red colour on his cheeks. He was sipping at a glass of the same wine of which she'd ordered a second glass, but he'd been flushing even when he'd only been drinking water. She tried to think of a question that would reveal something about him, without delving into a past that he seemed reluctant, no terrified, she amended, to share. He was proving to be quite the enigma, and that intrigued her.

"What's in your CD player?" That seemed harmless, she thought, as she asked over coffee, tea in his case.

He named a bunch of indie artists, now on firmer ground, books and music being two of his favourite things. He looked a little chagrined before almost naming the last in his eight disc CD changer. "Mmfpphs," he held his hand over his mouth and mumbled into it.

She laughed at the embarrassed look on his face and his obviously amusing attempt to side step. "I don't believe I've ever heard of them." She pretended to be serious.

They bantered back and forth for a few minutes, Boone making up song titles for a fictional group, and Pamela going along with it.

"So who, really?" She asked still chuckling at his latest invented song name.

He lowered his head and winced, "Driveshaft," came out, accompanied by a grimace.

She shook her head, "It's familiar, but, not really." She only knew enough about them to know that they certainly didn't fit in with the rest of the stuff he'd named, "Why Driveshaft?"

"I know someone in the band." Boone shrugged.

They talked music for a while. There was a bit of a disagreement when she put her credit card on top of his when the bill came, but she was adamant, and Boone didn't want to make a scene.

On the drive back to her apartment, he played a bit of the Driveshaft CD at her request. Not liking it much, and from his reaction knowing that Boone didn't really either, Pamela assumed that it must be a bit of an acquired taste.

Pulling up in front of her building, Boone shut the car off and came around, intending to open her door for her, but she'd already let herself out when he reached the sidewalk.

"I had a good time, again, thank you." She smiled.

"I did too." Well for most of it, he thought.

She leaned in and kissed him, her lips parted slightly, her tongue licking along the line where his lips met. She heard his sharp intake of breath, but he held himself against her.

When she pulled back, he had his brows furrowed and his eyes still closed. "Boone?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her apologetically, "I need to take this slow. Please?"

"Isn't that supposed to be the woman's line?" she smiled gently.

He laughed a bit, "Yeah, I guess. Just, please?"

"Of course," she couldn't help but wonder just what had the woman been like, who had done such a number on his head.  
He nodded in thanks, "Night then Pamela."

She kissed his cheek, "Goodnight."

Shannon looked around at her new apartment. The real estate agent was in the kitchen, his briefcase on the counter, getting the contract out for her to sign. Manchester was dreary this time of year, but she'd never actually lived there before, and it was full of history, _and_ twenty-four hour party people, or so the Happy Mondays' suggested.

"Ms. Rutherford?" he called from the other room.

She could hear the bass of the music from the flat below, already a good sign.

Her hand went up to grab the items dangling from the thin gold chain around her neck, her palm and fingers closing around the fine gold cross and chunky silver ring. Maybe she'd write to him from here, she started to compose a letter in her head:

Dear Boone:

Weather is here, wish you were fine.

Yeah, like that'd fly, she'd always sucked at writing anyway.

She headed into the kitchen to sign her name to yet another commitment to living away from him.


	13. Chapter 13

Andrew was sick, quite sick in fact. Boone had known, deep down, that when his son started school, he was more than likely to come down with some of the more common childhood ailments. Still, he'd picked him up time and again, seeing other kids with sniffles and runny noses, without Andrew exhibiting any signs of illness at all, that he'd developed a false sense of security.

It was chicken pox, very virulent, and very unpleasant. It'd had woken him one night, the child's misery penetrating his sleep, and he'd padded down the hall, after donning his boxers, to find the boy tangled in the sheets, brow sweaty and hair plastered to his skin. He'd pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, alarmed at the heat that he felt. Leaning closer he'd seen the tell tale red spots, and knew that he was in for a bit of a rough time.

He'd turned to leave the room, thinking the boy still asleep, but a faint 'Daddy?' had penetrated his thoughts.

Boone had gone back to the bed; Andrew's eyes were still closed. 'I'm here.' Boone assured him.

'I was waiting for you.' Boone could hear the whine in Andrew's voice even though the words were only in his head.

'Why didn't you wake me?' He'd continued the silent conversation.

'I did." Andrew pointed out.

Boone had to give him that one.

'I don't feel good, and I need to go to the bathroom.' His eyes finally flickered open. Boone could see how dull they were, even in the minimal light seeping around the half-open door to the hall.

'No, I know you don't feel good, but why didn't you just get up and _go_ to the bathroom?'

'I tried to get up, but my head feels funny, and I'm so hot. I need you to take me.' Andrew explained.

Boone had picked him up and taken him down the hall. He'd kicked the booster stool over in front of the toilet and stood the boy on it, holding him securely as he swayed a bit. When he was done, he'd kicked the stool over in front of the sink, so he could wash his hands; then carried him back to bed.

The boy was frightened, rarely ever sick, which Boone attributed to their healthy way of eating, and the minimal amount of contact he had with other children. Unaccustomed to how awful he felt, he mewled and fretted, pleading with Boone to help him. His heart breaking, Boone did all he could, running himself ragged up and down the stairs, attending to business and Andrew simultaneously.

He'd called Kate and Jack, searching for an easy solution to the problem, but had just been told to administer ibuprofen, and wait it out. In desperation he'd also called Sun, who told him to make some ginger-laced chicken soup for the child. She knew that it was just a placebo, but it gave him something to do, and certainly wouldn't hurt.

Pamela had called at lunch on the first day. "I got your message." He'd phoned the school as soon as he thought the office was open to let them know that Andrew wouldn't be coming in, reminding them to tell _all_ his teachers. "Chicken pox eh?"

"Yes." Boone pressed his hand against his forehead, already frustrated.

"It's going through the school. I've got four away myself." She told him.

"He's so sore, and miserable. I feel so bad for him." He could only imagine Shannon's impatience and irritation at the whining of a sick child.

"He'll be up and around in no time." Pamela assured him. "You know what to do right?" She was concerned that he'd give the boy aspirin.

"Yeah, I called Jack first thing this morning." He replied.

"Your friend Jack, from when you went away for the weekend? Why?" She wondered.

"He's a doctor; and his wife is too." Boone wasn't really paying too much attention, his thoughts on more immediate concerns.

They'd been on a few more dates; it was late October now. Pamela hadn't pressed any more about his background, sticking more with current events, and in response he'd become far more comfortable with her. She was pleased he was letting slip another tidbit of personal information. So two of his friends were doctors? Interesting. "I'm not going to be able to make it on Friday." Boone added.

"No I guess you're not. I'll miss you though." They'd been planning on going to a performance by the local theatre group.

"You're going to go without me?" He sounded sad and wounded.

"We paid for the tickets. I'm not going to let them go to waste." She pushed his baggage, whatever it was, out of her mind. She'd made a decision early in the relationship, to take him at face value. He had issues, which she hoped he'd reveal eventually, but she wasn't going to let it disrupt her enjoyment at being with him.

"No, only makes sense, I guess," he conceded. "I wish I was going to be there." She could hear the pout even over the phone.

"Me too," the sentiment was heartfelt. "Tell Andrew I said hello." Pamela rang off.

By day three, Heather thought he was going to have to go back to the hospital. He sat at his desk, staring blindly into space; exhaustion etched on his face, more a zombie than thinking human. He had stubbornly said that this was his problem and was dealing with the sick child alone. She'd asked him, on the first day, if he'd had the chicken pox himself, and he'd absently answered yes he was pretty sure he had.

Not overly confident with his answer, she called Sabrina, who had asked what chicken pox were, and if her son, in another moment of madness, had decided to raise poultry. Heather gave up at that point, if the man hadn't had the disease as a child, he was certainly going to now.

On day five, Boone dragged himself again to Andrew's bedside in the middle of the night. He was well into the itching stage now, and had woken Boone from his desperately needed sleep, with his desire to tear bloody welts into his skin. In a stupor, Boone ran a medicated bath and submerged the child in it, just wanting to lean over the edge of the tub and drown himself. He wished that there was someone to share the burden with him, but he wasn't about to inflict this kind of torture on Tom and Heather. He thought bitterly about his absent spouse.

After the bath, he carried the somewhat more comfortable boy back to his bed and tried to lie him down.

'No Boone, you too, please?' Andrew clung to him. 'I don't want to be alone.'

Heaving a sigh, he reversed their positions, lying in the bed with the small pyjama clad figure draped over his bare chest. He'd put his underwear on, when he'd gotten up, but that was all he'd managed.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.

Heather had heard them, the noise of the water running, and the footsteps in the hall, she was a mother, and was sensitive to those particular sounds. When she listened to them return to the one bedroom, but not the second, she went to check on them.

She shook her head at what met her gaze. The two of them, passed out in exhaustion, one of Boone's feet still on the floor. She lifted it and put it on the bed, he was so deep in sleep that his breathing pattern didn't even change. She pulled a spare blanket out of the chest at the foot of Andrew's bed and draped it over the two of them, kissing each in turn, before leaving the room and closing the door.

God, but he was relieved when his son was well enough to go back to school.

It was just before four o'clock and Pamela had noticed that Andrew had been looking kind of excited for about the last five minutes. When Boone entered the room, the boy, as usual, was already at the back door waiting for him. He grabbed his hand, and all but pulled him from the room, not even giving his dad a chance to smile and nod at her. She frowned in puzzlement at the strange behaviour, and after a minute moved to the window to see if she could tell what was up.

There was a very large man standing in the shade of the oak tree on the front lawn. The size of his hair was in proportion to the rest of him, and made it look as if two small fuzzy brown dogs had taken up residence on either side of his head.

When Andrew came out the front door, he made a beeline for the guy, and scaled up him, not unlike Sir Edmund Hillary must have conquered Mount Everest, she thought. Boone approached the pair, smiling and chuckling, as Andrew hugged the man. The three of them headed for a Humvee parked at the curb, Andrew's arms still wrapped about the large man's neck. He'd obviously been awarded the shotgun position, as Boone clambered into the rear passenger seat, and Andrew was deposited into the front.

Realizing that the vehicle was an extremely expensive one, she wondered about Boone again. She'd been getting a distinct sense that there was far more to him than she had assumed. Another part of the life that she'd concocted for him had been shattered when she'd finally asked him what he did. When he'd answered that he worked at the general store down by the lakefront, she'd been floored, so secure in the persona she'd created for him that it just didn't even occur to her that he'd answer with anything other than what she'd expected.

Boone thought he was only being honest with his response, after all owning the store was something he _had_, working at the store was what he _did_, and that's what she'd asked. He knew that it was kind of not answering the intent of her question, but he thought that saying he owned the place was kind of overblown, and boasting.

When she told him what she'd imagined he did, he'd just laughed.

"Grounds keeper and handyman?" He'd echoed, with a lopsided grin. "Well, I'm pretty good at cutting the lawn, but you don't really want to ask me to fix anything more complicated than changing a light bulb."

Tom had attempted to get him involved in basic home repair projects, but after Boone had almost put a drill bit right through the palm of his hand, during what should have been a routine procedure, the man had stepped forward and quickly removed the power tool from his grip, before he impaled himself on a door frame. Tom had then told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was never to touch one of them again, and, just to be safe, to leave the screw drivers and hammers in the tool box as well.

Pamela was disappointed that she still hadn't gotten past the kissing stage with Boone. She'd tried to progress it a few times, but he'd always backed off. He was such a good kisser, though, awakening such passion in her that she wasn't sure how much longer she could deal with the frustration of wanting more of him, only to be denied it.

She'd ask Boone about his large friend, and his car, when she saw him next, though she'd be sure to come at it a bit obliquely, he was still skittish about answering any even marginally personal questions, though she had to acknowledge that she _was_ slowly learning more about him. She went back to her desk, and tried to push her girlish daydreams involving the enigmatic Mr. Carlyle to the back of her mind.

Boone hadn't been expecting Hurley but had gotten a sense of his impending arrival about five minutes before he'd pulled the gargantuan vehicle into the driveway, and so had been out on the asphalt waiting for him.

"Dude, good to see you." He'd clapped Boone on the back sending him staggering forward.

"Hey man." He'd greeted, righting himself. "What gives?"

"Ma." The two letters explained everything. Boone liked Mrs. Reyes, but she _could_ be a bit opinionated and pushy sometimes. "I had to get away. She's been driving me nuts lately. I didn't think you'd mind if I crashed here for a few days."

Boone was more than happy to have the company, and as soon as they saw him, and heard that he was staying for an extended visit, Tom and Heather were too. Not only was he guaranteed to keep them laughing, he usually helped out in the store as well, loving to talk to the customers.

At three-thirty, when Boone announced that he had to go pick Andrew up, Hurley had immediately volunteered to drive. "Can't wait to see the little dude, he's the coolest."

After dinner that night, and putting Andrew to bed, the two friends wandered across the street to sit on the beach. It wasn't the same as sitting by the ocean on the island by any means, but it was a pretty good substitute. Lying on the sand, under the stars, they filled each other in on what was going on in their lives, talking well into the wee hours.


	14. Chapter 14

Boone felt good about his talk with Hurley the night before. It had helped him come to a few decisions and cleared up some of his uncertainty.

They had, of course, discussed his new dating adventures at length. When Boone confessed that he'd been unprepared for so many aspects of it, Hurley had been surprised.

"No way, Dude." He scoffed. "You over think every thing, you're always more prepared than a whole troop of Boy Scouts could ever be."

Boone had assured him that, in this particular instance, that was, sadly, not the case. He revealed how the whole sharing of personal information and the kissing, which he knew was going to inevitably lead to increased intimacy, had caught him completely off guard.

"But, Dude, you've dated before. Come on. You can't tell me that Shannon was your first. You know the routine: boy meets girl, they talk, tell each other all about themselves, decide if they like each other, then….well you know. Jeeze, Dude, even _I_ know, and you're way better looking than I am." Hurley protested.

"Yeah man, of course I know the routine. I just forgot it, is all. I focused more on the thought of actually asking someone out than the consequences if she said yes. The last time I dated was a lot of years and a ton of baggage ago. How do you handle it? You've been through a lot of what I have." Boone wondered.

"I just tell 'em." He shrugged, "Though a lot of the time, they already know."

Boone frowned, the question obvious.

"Ma, she sets me up a lot." He shrugged again. "That's actually why I'm here. The last chick had more facial hair than I've ever had even after a year on the island. It was gross, Dude. But Ma kept pestering me to ask her out again." He rolled his eyes and made a face.

Boone laughed in commiseration and became thoughtful, mulling over the big mans' words.

He decided to come clean with Pamela. He certainly couldn't tell her everything, but she deserved to know more than the little bit he'd revealed.

Hugo stayed for a week and, after getting a promise from his mother that she'd ease up on the dating pressure, he went home.

Boone set up a date with Pamela for the night after Hurley's departure. She invited him over to her apartment for dinner. She'd never been to his house, or even to the store, wanting to limit Andrews' exposure to her strictly to school so as not to undermine her authority or cause the boy any embarrassment or discomfort. She knew how awkward it would have been if one of her teachers had been a guest in her own parents' home.

She buzzed him up and opened her apartment door in anticipation of his arrival, going back to the kitchen. They'd eaten together often enough that she'd gotten a pretty good handle on his tastes and hoped that what she was preparing would meet with his approval.

"Pamela?" Boone called after entering the seemingly empty apartment.

"Kitchen," she replied, loudly.

He took off his boots and hung his leather jacket on the coat tree just inside the door.

"Hey," he greeted her in the kitchen with a kiss, and held out the bottle of wine he'd brought.

The dinner was delicious; Boone complimented her several times, acknowledging that she'd obviously paid close attention to what he liked to eat.

She cleared the table, with his help; then they moved to the couch, tea and coffee in hand.

"So what's up with the guy who was at the school with you the other day? That's a pretty extreme vehicle." She tried to make it more about the car than his friend, hoping not to provoke a flight response in him and avoid the guarded, frightened look with which she was so often met.

"He won a lottery." Boone shrugged, downplaying it. He was going over in his mind what he was going to tell her, how to start, when she put her mug on the coffee table, then took his out of his hand and did the same with it. Pamela had learned that if there was going to be any action, even if only minimal, she had to be the one to initiate it.

She looked at him briefly; he was staring fixedly at his mug, seeming to be thinking about something, more than just avoiding looking at her. She wanted to kiss him badly enough that she chose to ignore the signs and leaned in to press her lips to his, shifting on the couch to make it easier.

Boone tore his thoughts away from his musing and met the pressure, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. He really liked this woman and thought, along with his decision to tell her more about himself, he might be ready to increase the level of intimacy as well.

Pamela's hand moved to his hip and crept up under the hem of his sweater to rest on the bare flesh of his side just above the waistband of his jeans. She felt him shiver slightly as she kneaded the spot lightly and was surprised when he also slid his hand up under her top. It moved upwards, his fingers tracing lightly over her skin until he reached her breast. He cupped it gently and brushed his thumb over her nipple through her bra. She took a chance and moved her hand from his side and across the top of his thigh and down into his crotch.

Boone forced himself to stay in the moment, feeling a little panic. When her hand moved more insistently, he pulled away and removed his hand from under her shirt.

"Oh, Boone," Pamela said, frustrated and disappointed. She sat back on the couch.

"I'm sorry." He meant it, this wasn't fair to her and he knew it. He was about to make a counter offer though, substituting a 'figurative' carrot. "Look, Pamela, you don't know anything about me."

"It's not for lack of trying," she replied, sarcastically.

"I know. It's just that there's so much, so many things, it's overwhelming." Boone met her eyes.

"So start with one thing, the easiest thing." She prompted, expecting a hesitant 'no.'

Instead, to her surprise, he nodded, "Yeah, that's what I'd decided I'd do."

Wow, she thought, so this wasn't second base with him, but maybe it'd be even better, it certainly seemed just an important to him. "Okay," she smiled in encouragement, "I'm ready, hit me with it," expecting that whatever he'd say, it would probably be trivial; she'd noticed he had a penchant for over blowing things.

"I was in a plane crash." Boone thought of all the things he'd kept hidden, this would probably be the easiest to reveal and explain.

Okay, she thought, so it _wasn't_ a big deal. The aircraft had maybe slid off the runway on take off or landing, scary sure, but he'd survived it. She was about to find out just how wrong her latest assumption about him was.

"We were at thirty-five thousand feet. I was travelling with my sister Shannon, bringing her back from Sydney to LA, when the plane hit a pocket." He went on to describe the crash, it wasn't hard to bring to mind, the details were etched in his memory like it was yesterday.

Pamela's eyes got wider as he related the incident. Oh my god, she thought, trying to picture it in her mind, but not able to even come close to the horrible reality of it.

"Anyway, there were forty-eight of us that first night; then we learned that we were off course and no one knew where to look for us." A synopsis of the first few days followed. "It was a year before anyone found us." He looked up at her, his whole recitation having been given with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his hands.

"Jesus, Boone." She had tears in her eyes, not able to comprehend in her wildest dreams what he'd been through.

"Thirty-five of the original forty-eight got on the rescue boats, we were two of them." He had a far off look in his eyes. "These friends I've mentioned; Jack, Hurley, the guy, Charlie, in Drive Shaft, the Korean couple…there's a few more, they're all from the island. We're closer than family, really."

She shook her head at the enormity of it, and reached for his hand, he let her take it and smiled at her support. "It sounds familiar, I'm..I'm sure I've heard of it, not the crash so much as the rescue, after so long how miraculous it was, just when was this?"

"The crash was a little over six years ago, so the rescue just a little over five." He reached for his tea with his free hand, closing his eyes at the memories.

Something about the time line bothered her and it seemed like there was other information buried in what he'd revealed that was tugging at her logic centre, but she was too overcome by the story of the experience to try and make sense of it right then.

They talked about it a little longer, until it was obvious that it was too much for him and he suggested doing the dishes as a way out.

On reflection she considered that she'd told him to start with the easiest thing he had to tell her. If this was the easiest then what the hell was the rest?

"So," she said as they stood in front of a sink full of soapy water, "wash or dry?" She asked knowing him well enough that she knew he'd enjoy helping her with the dishes, almost as much as he'd enjoyed the meal.

Boone shrugged, "Doesn't matter, wash I guess." He moved to the sink and went to stick his hands into the foamy water.

"Hey! You'd better push your sleeves up, they'll get all wet." Pamela warned him.

"I changed my mind, I'll dry," He said quickly, not wanting to reveal his wrists, the scars, the tattoo, the bracelet. He'd told her enough for one evening he thought.

He'd leave the story behind all of them for another night.


	15. Chapter 15

"Boone?" They were sitting in a couple of lounge chairs in the backyard.

It was a Saturday and Boone had earlier finished detailing the two bikes, with Andrew's help. He could easily have paid someone else to do it for him, but he wouldn't have traded the satisfaction he got from doing it personally for the few extra hours of free time it would have given him. The added bonus being that Andrew always insisted on helping, the two of them male bonding as the boy fetched clean buckets of water and cleaning supplies, eventually settling on his butt on the driveway, meticulously, with his small perfectly suited child sized hands, cleaning each and every individual spoke on all four tires.

Boone had been so hot and tired when they were done, that he'd turned the hose on himself, drenching himself from head to toe, the sleeveless tee and shorts he wore soaked through. Then he'd turned the hose on Andrew, chasing the squealing child around with a spray of water, till they'd both collapsed on the lawn laughing.

"Yeah, bud?" Boone sipped at his iced green tea.

"What's gong to happen with Miss Phillips when Shan comes back?" Andrew asked innocently.

'Awww, fuck!' Boone thought, officially deciding that single parenthood should definitely rank at the top of the worlds' most difficult jobs. Hell, he figured, Komodo dragon wrangling or tornado chaser would be a cake walk in comparison. He idly wondered if there were any immediate openings in either field. Though to be fair to the boy, Jack _had_ asked him almost the identical thing. He hadn't really had an answer for Jack, any more than he had one for Andrew now.

"I love your mom, you know that right?" Boone asked, biting his lip at how close that love had come to killing him several times over.

Andrew nodded quickly, "I can feel it when you when you think about her, and sometimes even when you don't."

Boone laughed at that. "But she's not here right now, and as much as I love you and Tom and Heather, I need someone my own age to talk to, like you do, when we go to the park."

"Kay Boone," he nodded, understanding at the concept. "But what's going to happen with Miss Phillips when Shan comes back?" He repeated his original question.

"I wish I knew bud, I really do," Boone answered, but in reality he knew all too well.

Pamela was at the front of her class in the middle of a history lesson when the other shoe dropped, so to speak. She was outlining a basic timeline of a portion of American history concerning the old west when it clicked. She turned suddenly from the board and swept her eyes over the class, lingering on Andrew longer than on any of the others. Quickly assigning some reading, she crossed to her desk.

Boone had said that the crash was six years ago, plus a bit, and the rescue just over five. She reached for her class roster, scanning quickly down the personal information on each child. She liked to have a list of their birthdays, so she could acknowledge them; it added a personal touch she thought the kids appreciated. She stared at the date she'd been sure she'd remembered correctly and confirmed that there was nothing wrong with her memory. Andrew was just shy of five and a half. He'd been born on this island that Boone had spoken of with a note of homesickness in his voice she was sure he wasn't even aware of.

He'd said he'd been travelling with his sister, Shannon. But he'd also told her that he only had a step-sister, she assumed they were one and the same, and that it was only a matter of Boone being used to leaving the 'step' part out. The last piece of the puzzle she figured was what he'd said about moving here from LA: 'We'd been away for over a year, and needed someplace quieter.' She was sure if she asked the boy his mothers' name, he'd say Shannon. The person Boone had been married to and had a child with could only have been his own step-sister. No wonder he'd kept it hidden from her.

Knowing that school wasn't the proper venue at which to confront him, but pissed off enough anyway, she glared at him a bit when he came to pick Andrew up at four, then went back to her paperwork. The next thing she knew, he was standing beside her desk.

"Pamela?" He was looking down at her uncertainly, appearing exactly like a recalcitrant student she'd chastised.

"You should have told me," she unwitting repeated her words from the very first day they'd met, but this time Boone had no idea, either right or wrong, about what she was referring to.

"Told you what?"

She considered waiting, reminding herself again how wrong it was to talk to him at school about their relationship, "The truth about your step-sister. Shannon, I think you said her name was." She watched the colour drain from his face, except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. She was stunned when he turned on his heel and left the room quickly, collecting a concerned looking Andrew on his way out.

Her cell rang just as she was unlocking the door to her apartment. Checking the call display, she answered, "Boone," her tone flat and unreadable.

"I didn't want to do this at school and I don't want to over the phone either." He started right in, no preamble, no greeting.

She recognized the traditional start of a break up speech and dropped her briefcase on the floor, her hand pressed to her chest, overcome with dread in anticipation of what he'd say next.

"I'll tell you about Shan," he sounded sad and resigned.

His words left Pamela shocked on so many levels. Not only was he not breaking up with her, he was actually going to share more of his background!

"Meet me for coffee at seven? Please?" He pleaded, as if there was a chance she'd refuse.

His motorcycle was already parked at the curb when she got to the same coffee shop they'd gone to on their first date. She looked through the glass insert in the front door. He was sitting at a table, a teapot and cup in front of him, as well as a huge café latte cup opposite him. He had one elbow up on the table top and his head in his hand.

"Boone?" his head snapped up at the sound of his name as she pulled her chair out. He started to rise, but she motioned for him to stay put.

He smiled uncertainly, "Hi, thanks for coming, I wasn't sure you would."

She laughed at that. "I'm not mad at you Boone; I'm just a bit disappointed. Though I guess I can understand why you're so reticent about talking about your past, from what little I've learned so far." She sipped at her coffee.

Christ, he thought bitterly, and she barely knows anything. "Yeah, it's a little…different," he understated.

She waited, watching him, his eyes the same icy blue colour as his shirt. They looked somehow cold and isolated, bringing to mind a picture of a singular iceberg, drifting at the mercy of an ocean current, not having any control over its' own destiny. She didn't realize how apt a metaphor it was to describe the life of the man sitting across from her, about to reveal something about the ocean current that had ruled his existence since has was ten.

Boone took a deep breath and let it out slowly, furrowing his brow and gritting his teeth a bit. "Shannon." He said the name the way a zealot might utter the name of the deity he worshipped. The emotions that played across his face left her breathless. Would anyone ever love her that much? Would he? "It's kind of obvious by now that you've already figured out that she's Andrews' mother, and my wife."

"Yes," Pamela acknowledged, not picking up on the current tense he was using, still secure in her assumption that he was a widower. "I must admit, I find it more than a little odd, and a bit creepy, that you were married to your step-sister."

"Yeah, we used to get that a lot." He went on to outline their years together before he'd fled in desperation to university in New York. Detailing his life with the golden haired princess who'd captured his heart from the second he'd laid eyes on her, the girl who'd wrapped him more securely around her finger than a lock of that same pale yellow hair. "There was nothing I wouldn't have done for her, it was killing me." University and the continent between them had helped a little; that was until her father had been killed and he'd flown back, knowing she'd need his support. He described how badly he felt he'd let her down, putting his own future before hers, when he'd accepted a lucrative job offer, but Pamela knew he'd made the right decision.

He skipped the first two fabricated calls for help, and the theft of his money, entirely, going directly to the call from Sydney and how he'd dropped everything to go to her. He'd become increasingly more emotional as the story progressed and had to bite back a bit of a sob as he shamefully revealed that her _abusive_ boyfriend had actually beaten him up.

She'd tried to hold his hand at one point, but he'd pulled it out of her grasp and had sat worrying at the flesh on the inside of his right wrist, she'd caught a brief flash of silver as he'd slipped his left thumb up under his shirt cuff, his head hung low.

He took a breath and continued. "Andrew was conceived the night before the flight. He knows that. He knows most of what happened. He's more his mothers' son than mine in that regard, so much stronger than I am."

He looked at her and blinked a few time. "I can't lie to you, Pamela. If she comes back, if she _ever_ comes back to me, and I don't know if she ever will, but if she does, she owns me. I can't help myself. I'm sure I won't be able to resist her. You need to know that before we go any further."

The emotion she'd been experiencing at this story was now clouded by confusion. "Comes back? What do you mean comes back? I thought she'd died."

"What? No," he shook his head, "she's not dead. She left me, she left us. Why would you think that she's dead?"

"I just thought…you know…you're so…you're so fantastic. Who could ever leave you?" His wife was still alive? Was she _crazy_, leaving this precious man? Then the deeper implication hit of what he'd said hit her. Oh fuck, where did that leave her? This wasn't a passing fancy on her part, she'd fallen hard for this guy and was thinking long term.

"Shannon Rutherford, that's who," he answered.

Shannon surveyed the gym floor, 'Stupid Boone, stupid exercise.' Damn but the habits she'd picked up from him annoyed the crap out of her. 'Fucking home gym,' she cursed the building he'd had built for them.

She headed over to a weight station and adjusted the free weights on the bar before lying on the bench beneath it. She set her hands, in their fingerless leather palmed gloves and drew a breath, preparing to lift.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a guy pass, "Spot me?" she called out.

"Sure luv," he answered quickly, taking in the shapely legs and toned figure.

By the time they finished the entire circuit she'd assessed him and found him suitable to be taken into consideration as her next substitute for Boone, though she knew that there really was no substitute for the real thing, especially in his case. At best anything else could only be compared to a flat lifeless two dimensional stand in, like a bookstore might display a life sized cardboard cut out of a popular author flogging his latest best seller just inside their front door, because they failed to engage him for a personal appearance stop on his latest book signing tour.

As they sat in a local pub after the gym, Paul excused himself to visit the bathroom.

Her earlier musings prompted her to take the opportunity of being alone to fish out her wallet and extract the picture she'd taken from Boone the day she'd left him, and had carried with her ever since. It had been the only one he'd had with him, but he'd gladly handed it over to her, along with his picture of Andrew, hoping that the reminders would keep them in her thoughts, maybe one day encouraging her to return to them.

As she looked into the smiling face of her husband, she ran her index finger over his features, lost in the blue of his eyes.

The insistent repetition of her name intruded on her thoughts.

"What is it Boone?" She snapped, startled when she raised her head and her eyes encountered the face across from her that wasn't his.


	16. Chapter 16

It was an early Tuesday morning and Boone was dreaming. It was a particularly erotic dream. Shannon was kneeling between his legs; they were both naked, he was lying in a clearing back on the island, both of them exposed in the moonlight. She was leaning forward, doing things to him with her mouth and her hands that were driving him wild. Boone moaned quietly in his sleep and shifted his hips restlessly, his breathing speeding up as his mind screened his very own private x-rated movie, though it was actually more a memory than something his sub-conscious had fabricated.

He whimpered a bit and his eye lids fluttered, his racing heart finally dragging him from sleep.

He awoke with a start, the images from his dream lingering in his head, following him into wakefulness. He was aware of the heat emanating from the area of his groin and raised his head, looking down. He furrowed his brow a bit in surprise at the sight of the obvious bulge in the covers. He hadn't become sexually aroused in longer than he could remember, the meds he was on, his depression, the lack of stimulation all serving to almost completely deactivate his libido. Boone stared in fascination and moved his hand down hesitantly under the sheets. His own touch was electric, he gasped a bit at the intensity of the sensation at the contact. He thought that maybe if he just waited it'd take care of itself and go away, but his hand kept moving insistently, independent of his brain.

He glanced at the bedside clock, his breathing laboured, he was supposed to get up in ten minutes anyway, if he showered now, anyone who might hear him wouldn't think to question it. Boone stilled his hand, and slipped out of bed. After pulling on his boxers, he hesitantly cracked open his bedroom door and cast his thoughts over the other occupants of the house. Andrew was still sound asleep, and he was pretty sure Tom and Heather were too, his connection to them still only marginal. He pushed his fist against his crotch, just in case he was wrong and one of them came out of their bedroom, and hurried across the hall.

The bathroom door securely locked behind him, he started the shower. After shedding his underwear he climbed into the tub. He leaned his forehead against the tiles, his left hand on the wall steadying himself as his right stole down again to wrap around himself. He brought an image of Pamela to mind and moaned as his hand worked.

Inevitably, as he got closer and closer, the instinctive part of this brain took over, and his pictured fantasy woman morphed into Shannon. As he spilled over his hand, he whispered her name, his forehead slamming once, hard, against the smooth surface as his body jerked, too far gone for the brief flash of pain to stop him.

When he was done, and all the evidence of his actions had swirled down the drain, leaving behind no trace other than a slightly sore spot just below the hairline on the right side of his forehead, guilt and shame set in. His shoulders started to shake as his hands came up to cover his face. Boone slid down the wall ending up crouched against the back of the tub in misery. He indulged in what was either self-loathing or self-pity; he wasn't sure which, for a count of five, just like Jack had told him how he personally dealt with fear, and then found the strength from somewhere to push it firmly away, and rise to his feet.

That morning at breakfast Heather noticed that he was acting a bit strangely, almost like he was hiding something. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and he seemed a bit flushed, she'd also noticed that there saw a small bruise almost completely concealed by his mess of hair, high on his forehead. When she asked him about it, he just mumbled something about slipping in the shower.

Boone hesitantly told his therapist about it during their session that day, mortified with humiliation. The guy just smiled at him, and told him that it was perfectly normal, nothing to be ashamed about at all. In fact it should actually be considered a good sign, another milestone on the road to recovery. He'd taken a big step when he'd started dating, so his reawakening sexual desires were a part of the natural progression. Reassured somewhat, though still feeling a bit like a hormonal adolescent, Boone tried to be a little less embarrassed. Dr. Andersen's next words buoyed his spirits considerably.

"I think we can reduce your dosage a bit. How does that sound to you?" The doctor knew how deeply disappointed Boone had been two months prior when he'd reconsidered his earlier decision to do what he was suggesting today, but had honestly felt that there was just too much upheaval in the young man's life at that point. The smile his words produced spoke volumes.

"Really?" He looked like it couldn't believe it, his mouth worked a bit, but he couldn't speak. "That'd be great. I mean, I really feel better, I really do. Thanks." He finally managed to get a few words out.

Jack had chosen Dr. Andersen with care, actually interviewing the man personally before even suggesting that the two of them meet. Boone's case was pretty special, the doctor who would eventually end up helping him get over his problems, would have to do so without benefit of the entire truth, though they wouldn't be told that, of course. Jack knew that there was no way that Boone could, or _would_, tell most of what had happened during their year of forced isolation, and the astounding abilities that many of them had returned with. His therapist would have to be intuitive enough to be able to help him regardless. Dr. Andersen seemed to be the perfect candidate. His prior experience, before taking up private practice, had been working with military men who had been traumatized by their activities in the field, activities that had been so covert that they were on a strict need to know basis, and he _hadn't_ needed to know. Even so, from what Jack had managed to learn from his inside sources, he'd managed to help many of them anyway, and almost all had come out the better for it. Jack had been pleased when doctor and patient had hit it off immediately and then again when the doctor had agreed to take the case.

"Don't thank me. You've done most of it yourself; you've worked really hard Boone. You should be pleased." He scribbled a note on a prescription pad and stood, holding it out.

"I am. I want so much to be okay." He said sincerely. "Thanks," the gratitude in his voice, evident.

The doctor clapped him on the shoulder as he ushered him out with the usual caution to be careful on his motorcycle.

Boone couldn't wait to tell Tom and Heather the good news.

Heather had spent theday wondering about his strange mood of that morning, and was a little apprehensive about how he would be after his weekly session. When she saw his face, she was understandably relieved at the genuine smile with which he greeted her. When she heard what he had to say, she shared in his happiness. That he'd had to go through it at all in the first place still ate at her achingly, but he'd chosen his own path in life, even though it had several times led to disaster. Tom's reaction mirrored Heather's, and was perhaps even a little more heartfelt. He still remembered the horrific feeling that he'd gotten from Boone the day the boy had touched his mind. At three thirty Boone headed off to pick Andrew up with a spring in his step.

Pamela had lay awake most of the night he'd told her about his step-sister, thinking about what she'd told him before he'd left. She was willing to take a chance with him, she'd said. What she hadn't said was that she thought she might actually already be in love with him, and was going to go the distance with him because she hoped that there was some way that he could come to love her enough, that if his wife ever _did_ come back, the thought of leaving her would never even occur to him. It was pretty risky; she knew she was setting herself up for disappointment, but at this juncture, going on without Boone Carlyle in her life was something she didn't want to contemplate.

Just before four Andrew's head came up, a sparkle in his eyes, and a big grin on his face, Boone's happiness almost tangible to him. He shifted in his seat, bouncing up and down a little as he kept glancing back at the door, even though he knew Boone had only just started down the corridor.

Pamela noticed his behaviour, but she'd given up trying to figure out the range of reactions he displayed just before Boone put in his daily appearance.

He was out of his seat and at the door, launching himself into Boone's waiting arms at the exact moment his dad entered the room, his usual more restrained greeting temporarily abandoned. 'Boone.' He wrapped his arms around his neck and snuggled into him, 'You're really happy about the doctor's today.' He pulled back and looked into his eyes, as Boone nodded in confirmation.

'It went well. We'll talk about it later, okay Bud?' Boone kissed his cheek and set him down on the floor so he could gather his things.

'Kay Boone.' Andrew headed back up the aisle.

Pamela couldn't help but smile and wonder at the silent, but obviously emotionally charged scene that had just transpired. Boone was smiling happily at her now as he waited for his son. She smiled back, and decided again to break their no school contact unwritten rule.

She walked to the back with Andrew, "Hey, you look like the cat that just ate the canary."

"I had an appointment today that went really well, so I'm kind of on a bit of a high." He shrugged, downplaying the euphoria he'd actually let seep into him a little.

Andrew waited patiently by his side, his hand held in Boone's, Boone had already asked him not to say anything when he realized that Pamela was coming to talk to him.

"You want to share a bit of that high, and come over tonight?" She asked, after checking to be sure she couldn't be overheard, though they usually didn't meet on school nights.

"I could come by for a bit after supper. That okay with you Andrew?" He looked down for confirmation.

Mindful of Boone's request that he stay silent, the boy just nodded.

When he arrived at her apartment she asked him about the nature of the appointment and good news he'd mentioned earlier, but when she was met with a bit of a panicked look in response, she just shook her head, smiled and told him, "Never mind Boone, I don't need to know, just as long as it made you happy."

They were sitting on the couch now, the TV on but unwatched, as they kissed.

She slid her hand under the hem of his sweater, as she had before, knowing that he was comfortable with this amount of contact, and ran her palm over his stomach, lifting the garment up as she slowly moved higher. Before her fingers reached his chest, however, he gently grabbed her wrist, and guided her hand back down to his abdomen, not wanting to ruin the evening by having to explain where the scars she was sure to sense with her finger tips had come from.

His own hand mimicked hers, sliding up under her top, to tease again at her breast as he had before. His experiences of the day leaving him feeling confident and a little bold, he slid his other hand from around her shoulders and onto her bare thigh, stroking gently as he moved up her leg and under her skirt, until he encountered the fabric of her panties.

Pamela was seriously starting to question her good fortune. Was this really the shy, almost frigid man she'd been trying to coerce into reaching even second base for weeks now? She figured if he was being this forward, then maybe he'd let her go a little further too. She moved her hand from under his top, and down to stroke gently at the front of his blue jeans, waiting to see if he'd pull away. When he shifted his hips slightly, increasing the pressure, she was only too willing to accommodate him, stroking a little harder.

Boone's fingers slid under the elastic of the leg, and down, shocking her, but pleasing her greatly in more ways than one, when they reached their destination and started to move slowly.

She broke the kiss briefly, and he pulled his hands back as she stood, moving to straddle him, their previous positions a little too awkward for what they both were intending. Just before she knelt on the couch to face him, he reached up under her skirt and tugged her panties down. Pamela watched his face the whole time, searching his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitancy on his part, but not finding any. His eyes captivated her, they were smoky, the lids heavy, making him look, if it was even possible, even sexier. One side of his mouth slowly rose in a bit of a half smile that she returned as she placed her knees on either side of his thighs, and brought their lips together once more.

His hands slid up under her skirt and top again, the one under her shirt pressing the two sides of the front closure of her bra together, undoing it. He pushed one half to the side as his hand cupped her breast again, his thumb circling her nipple.

The sensations were forcing most thoughts from her head, whoever had taught him how to do this had been good, very good, she'd never encountered a guy before who knew exactly what spots to touch quite the way he did. She had to force herself to remember to breathe as she fumbled for his belt, quickly undoing it, the button and zipper on his jeans following. She didn't think she was going to last much longer as she broke their kiss again and pressed her lips to his ear, telling him to raise his hips. When he did she pulled his jeans down till the waistband was below his crotch. The heat started to spread though her as her fingers slid though the opening in the front of his boxers, and she finally touched him for the first time. He groaned at the contact, as her hand circled him firmly; then tightened as her orgasm took her, somehow remembering to keep stroking him as she shook.

When Boone heard her breathing more regularly, he smiled against her neck at the pleasure he'd given her, then turned his focus to the pleasure she was giving him.

She had just freed him from the confines of his underwear when his cell phone rang.

"Shit," Boone cursed, Pamela silently echoed the word. "I'm going to have to check that. It might be home."

She let go of him and got to her feet, as he reached down into his pocket to retrieve the unwelcome intruder.

She picked her panties up off the floor and started putting them on as he snapped the phone open and checked the call display, it _was_ home just as he'd thought.

Tom was on the line, Andrew had had a nightmare and nothing they'd done could calm him down. Tom was sorry, but Boone was going to have to come home.

Pamela turned to see him tucking himself back into his underwear. He awkwardly held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he stood, pulling his pants back up. She caught another flash of silver on his left wrist as his sleeve rode up a bit as he refastened his jeans.

"Let me speak to him." Boone requested.

"Daddy?" Andrew choked the word out between sobs.

"Hey bud, what gives?" Boone kept his voice soft.

"The monster killed Shan, she was dead Boone. I saw her lying on rocks in a stream. I want my mommy." He wailed.

'Oh fuck,' Boone pinched the bridge of his nose. The kid had picked another memory out of his head, but this was a first, he'd never asked for Shannon before. "Andrew, Andy, please bud…calm down, okay? I'll be right home, I'm on way." Boone's own thoughts were racing as he recalled the hallucination John had forced on him.

Instead of an answer, there were only a few more sobs coming from the other end of the call.

"You tell Tom that I said you get to sleep with me tonight, okay bud?" He spoke the words slowly, trying to calm the boy down. He crossed to the door and put his jacket on.

"Kay Boone." The words hitched as Andrew cried.

"I'm on my way, right now," he repeated, snapping the phone closed.

"Pamela, I'm sorry but…," he started.

"Don't," she shook her head. "Just go, he needs you, I understand."

He smiled briefly, "Thanks." He leaned in and kissed her, his eyes lingering a bit as he pulled away.

"Night," He said a bit regretfully as he opened the door and headed down the corridor.

She closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, closing her eyes and recalling the sensation of his touch.


	17. Chapter 17

Andrew was still awake when Boone got home, snuggled deep into Boone's bed, his pillow sideways and pulled in tightly against the boy, one arm and one leg thrown over the white cotton, much the same way Shannon had arranged her limbs when she'd slept up against his side.

'Hey Bud,' Boone sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through Andrew's hair. The boy shifted to look up at him.

'Was it real Boone?' He knew there was no way it could have been, his own existence and his memories of Shannon obvious evidence of it, still the images had been powerful enough that he needed confirmation.

Boone shook his head. 'No…John…he thought it was something I needed to see, but it wasn't real, and in the long run it didn't make a difference anyway. I still ended up with your mom.' Boone was still a bit bitter about Locke's pointless cruelty, especially now that it had impacted on Andrew as well.

Andrew rose up on his knees and slid his arms about Boone's neck, hugging him tightly.

Boone kissed him and rose, carrying him into the bathroom, sitting him on the counter while he got ready for bed; then back again to his bedroom laying him down then joining him beneath the covers after stripping to his boxers. He turned off the lights and spooned the small figure up against his chest. "I love you," Boone whispered comfortingly into the boys' ear as they both fell asleep.

There could have been a nuclear holocaust while Boone slept and he would never have been aware of it, he was such a deep sleeper. So he wasn't surprised when he woke up the next morning in bed alone, Andrew having risen at some point in the night. The fact that he'd returned to his own bed without Boone's knowledge was confirmed by a quick peek into the boys' own bedroom.

Over the next couple of days Boone became increasing silent and withdrawn, the good mood he'd been in gradually shifting to quiet introspection, by the evening of the second day, he was almost mute.

On the morning of his fifth wedding anniversary, Heather watched him come down the stairs for breakfast, and head directly to the fridge. He got the jug of iced tea out and went over to the cupboard, passing right by the steaming teapot and mug she'd set out for him. He got himself a glass and poured it full, then carefully put the jug into the cupboard from which he'd just gotten the glass, and closed the door again.

He put the glass on the counter and stood there staring at the wood of the door, as his hand fumbled in the plate of cookies on the counter. He absently started eating one, still staring at the grain of the wood, though she knew he wasn't really seeing it.

When Boone reached for a second cookie, she crossed to him and put her hand on his bare forearm, stopping his hand halfway to his mouth, even then it took a few seconds before he acknowledged her. "What?"

"You going to eat cookies for breakfast, instead of the toast I'm making for you?" Heather asked, letting go of his arm.

"What?" He repeated, he rarely ever ate cookies, especially not for breakfast, and so had no idea what she was talking about.

She nodded down at his hand, "That's your second."

Boone stared at the item, and furrowed his brow, "My second?" He ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth a bit, surprised when he _did_ in fact taste oatmeal raisin cookie. He put it back on the plate.

"And you might want to put the iced tea jug back in the fridge." She continued.

He looked down at the counter, confused when there was no sign of an iced tea jug, just wondering why there was a glass of the stuff beside his empty mug.

She reached past him and opened the cabinet door.

"Oh." He frowned, and reached for the pitcher, "Sorry, I guess I'm a bit distracted." He looked at the glass. "Did I drink any of this?" In his present state not sure if he had or not. When Heather shook her head no, he dumped it back in the jug and returned it to the fridge.

"And Boone, really, buy yourself some new t-shirts." The one he was wearing was so worn it had a big hole in the shoulder seam.

He shrugged, "No one sees me in them." He never left the property without wearing long sleeves.

"So I'm no one?" Heather asked, amused

He shook his head, "Of course you're not. After today I'll get some new ones," he said quietly. "Just let me wear it for today. You know why."

She smiled a bit sadly, knowing it was one of his collection of short-sleeved tees that Shannon had given him. His toast had popped so she went to spread peanut butter on it for him, while he poured his tea, hot this time.

She put it on a plate and added some berries, setting it in front of his place.

He turned from the counter and looked at Andrew, wondering what looked strange for a minute before putting his finger on it. He pulled his chair out and sat, looking in curiosity at the boy's notebook. "Andrew, what are you doing?"

He looked up briefly, "Math."

Boone tried again, realizing that he certainly hadn't made himself clear. "No I mean what are you going with your pencil in your left hand?"

"Math," he repeated, sounding a bit annoyed, he felt he'd already answered the question.

Boone pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, as Heather hid a bit of a smile, though till Boone pointed it out she hadn't picked up on the fact that the child had been holding the pencil in his non-dominant hand, and was also a bit curious.

"Whoakay, let's try this _one more time_. Why are you writing with your left hand?" He winced a bit, waiting for yet another unintentionally obscure answer.

"Sandy does it. He sits beside me in English. I wondered what it was like, so I copied him. I've been watching him and practicing. It's fun, but different." He bent his head to his notebook again.

Boone just lowered his face to his hand and rubbed it. God the kid could be strange sometimes, but he knew Andrew loved a challenge, and he assumed that this was just another one of those. He couldn't see any disadvantage to the boy being able to write with either hand, but had to chuckle a bit anyway. When he'd glanced at the notebook, he'd seen a difference in the quality of the printed words and numbers, but they were still perfectly legible, if anything they just looked a little more like the work of a five and a half year old than Andrew's usual fairly neat writing.

"You still write with the other hand too?" Boone wondered.

"Yeah," He switched hands easily and Boone could see his printing even out, "But I'm getting a lot better with the other one too. It was real hard at first, though." He seemed to notice Boone's toast and peanut butter for the first time, as his dad started eating.

"Can I have a peanut butter sandwich for lunch?" He sounded a bit excited.

Boone had to patiently explain, _again_, why he couldn't take anything with nuts in it to school.

Andrew pouted a bit; then thought he'd found a loophole.

"You could bring me a sandwich at lunch, and we could go out." He nodded enthusiastically.

Boone got still and looked at him for a minute, "Not today, bud." He had a self-assigned task already claiming his time.

Andrew reached out and put his hand over Boone's, "Cause it's your 'versary, right?"

"Yeah, because it's our anniversary," Boone acknowledged. The letter he was going to compose that day, one of four he wrote to his absent wife every year, but had never yet sent, weighing heavily on his thoughts.

"Tomorrow?" Andrew smiled and asked tentatively.

"Yeah, tomorrow, I'll come take you out for lunch. And we'll _both_ have peanut butter." Boone reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Kay, Boone." He agreed to the compromise.

When Boone got back from taking Andrew to school, he stopped briefly in the office to tell Heather that he was going to be in the dining room, writing supplies tucked up under his arm and a glass of iced tea in his hand.

"I'll check on you in a couple of hours." She said, standing to give him a kiss on the cheek.

She got up every so often, and moved quietly down the hall, listening at the closed door, but this time not hearing the crying that she usually did when letter writing days came about and he sequestered himself away.

On her third trip he called out. "I know you're out there you know."

"I've got the jug of tea. Would you like some more, dear?" Heather enticed, just wanting to see him, to be sure he was all right.

She heard him give a little laugh, "Yeah, okay, whatever."

She opened the door and peered in, he was sitting at the table, a few sheets of stationery over-turned to his left and a fresh one in front on him, half covered by his precise handwriting. There were no balled up pieces of paper, he always carefully considered each and every word before he committed it to parchment. Boone slid a blank sheet of paper over his writing, to hide it, as she approached to refill his glass.

"I'm going to make lunch soon, how much longer will you be?" Heather asked.

"Half hour, maybe less," he looked up at her. He bit his lip, and gave a brief sob, his face crumpling, "You think she thinks of us ever?"

She pulled his head against her waist as he circled his arms around her, "I'm sure she does, Boone, I'm sure she does."

Shannon was sitting in a café, the coffee she'd ordered half an hour ago still untouched and now room temperature, completely unappealing. She'd been to the bank earlier to check her balance and, even though it was still substantial, she'd decided to call their lawyer to have some more funds transferred; refusing to acknowledge that it was just an excuse to connect with someone from home, someone who knew _him_. Her thoughts, considering the significance of the date, had naturally been consumed with him all day.

She stood and grabbed the strap of her bag from the back of her chair, slinging it over her shoulder and heading for the street.

In her apartment she settled in a chair and dialed the phone.

Their lawyer's secretary already knew which calls to put through and which to screen. This was the second Carlyle call she'd put through that day, given the date not surprised at all by it.

When the man answered, they ran though the passwords and codes that confirmed that she was who she said she was and that she wasn't being blackmailed into making the large transfer, then he verified the mailing address that he'd already given Mr. Carlyle when he'd called earlier in the day, then her banking information. "You'll have the funds by noon tomorrow Ms. Rutherford, was there anything else?"

"I, uhm, I guess not." She replied hesitantly.

"Nothing at all?" he asked again, certain that there was, you didn't make a career out of prying hidden secrets out of people without being able to determine, even over the phone, that something was being held back.

"Well, how…how is" somehow the name 'Boone' just wouldn't come out, instead "the weather in LA?" popped out instead.

"The weather in LA is perfect." He paused. "In fact, right now, _everything_ in California is just fine." He stressed the word.

"Okay, thanks. I mean that's good to know. The weather and all. Great." Shannon ran her hand through her hair, god she sounded like an idiot, but it was obvious from his words that he'd known what she was really asking.

"If you've finished questioning the condition of the climate, I assume we're done?" He asked smoothly.

"Yeah, thanks, I'm glad the _weather_ is fine." She got a little bit of her composure back.

After he hung up, she reached for the large tumbler of vodka on the rocks she'd poured for herself out of the bottle in the freezer, and rested her head against the back of the chair, letting her thoughts drift freely.


	18. Chapter 18

Andrew was sitting at his desk, his arms folded across his chest, pouting. Pamela was about to get up and go and ask him why, when Boone came in the door. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell slightly open, her breathing started to speed up in keeping with the racing of her heart. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, a white shirt and black necktie, black dress shoes completing the look. He looked like he'd just walked out of the pages of a high fashion magazine.

He didn't even spare her a glance, his eyes focused squarely on Andrew; he appeared a little exasperated as he crouched down beside his son's desk. They'd started a silent debate almost the second he'd entered the building.

He looked up at the boy, Pamela noticed his face and head moving as if he was having a conversation with him; Andrew though, continued to stare straight ahead, his pout deepening.

Boone suddenly realized what he was doing and started speaking to him quietly.

Intrigued and also wanting to get a closer look at this differently attired Boone, Pamela rose from her seat and went down the aisle stopping beside him, "Hey."

Boone rose to face her, "Hey." He kept glancing down at Andrew though.

"You look amazing." She complimented.

"Pfftt, thanks," He acknowledged the compliment but didn't seem too pleased about it. "Stupid monkey suit, I can't believe I used to wear these all the time. I feel like an overdressed idiot."

"I'm _not_ going!" Andrew suddenly blurted, still unmoving.

Boone turned back to him; she could see his jaw clenching. "Discussion's over, you don't get a vote, this isn't a democracy, I'm the dictator and I say you're going." He'd had enough of trying to reason with the boy.

"I don't like her!" He glared at Boone.

Boone sighed, "Yeah, I don't like her much either, but she's my mother so we're both going anyway."

He suddenly realized that Pamela was still standing there, "Family thing," he explained.

"Oh," she nodded, "hence the 'monkey suit'?" Monkeys could only dream of looking so hot.

"Yeah," he sighed again and rolled his eyes. "My mother called, command performance, she's having some fancy Thanksgiving dinner at her house, and wants to trot out her _loving family_ to make herself appear all warm and fuzzy," he spat, his mouth running away on him a bit in his flustered state. "Fat lot of good it's going to do her." He muttered.

Andrew got out of his seat, pushed him out of the way and stalked down the aisle.

"Why didn't you just tell her no if you didn't want to go?" Pamela thought it was a reasonable question.

Boone had already turned to follow Andrew. "You don't tell Sabrina Carlyle no," he shot over his shoulder, his thoughts in turmoil not even registering what he was saying, and hurried after his son.

When he reached the car Andrew climbed into the passenger seat and belted himself in, still scowling furiously ahead.

Boone really wasn't up to this; visits to his mother were traumatic enough without Andrew acting up on top of it, though the kid always put up a bit of a fight when advised that they were going to visit Sabrina.

Boone heaved a sigh and, in an attempt at a peace offering, pointed out that he'd put Andrew's puzzle book and PMD in the pocket beside the passenger seat, as well as a nice snack to tide him over till supper.

The boy gave him a bit of a sideways look, his lips still pursed in displeasure before heaving a sigh of his own and reaching for the items.

As with most kids, he didn't actually stay mad at Boone for long, and within half an hour was happily humming away to the tunes playing in his ears while he busily scratched away at the book with his pencil.

Boone, however, managed to get himself completely worked up at the thought of what the next twenty four hours might hold, and by the time he parked the car at his mothers' estate he was filled with dread.

He'd never laid eyes on the guy who opened the front door at his knock, and when asked for his invitation just about suffered a complete meltdown as he stuttered that he didn't have one.

"Boone!" Mrs. Simpson, the family's long time house keeper greeted him happily from across the foyer. As she reached the front door she pulled him into a hug, and then crouched down and wrapped her arms around Andrew too. "This is Mrs. Carlyle's son." She informed the stranger at the door, turning to roll her eyes her eyes so only Boone could see.

"Well there you are, _finally_!" Sabrina came out of the living room and spied them.

Boone had checked the time in the car before they gotten out and knew that it was only ten after six. "I _said_ we'd be here shortly after six, mother."

She came over and presented her cheek to each of them so they could kiss it. She looked at Andrew in his soccer jersey and rolled up jeans. "Why isn't the boy dressed properly Boone? You _know_ this is a semi formal party."

"I picked him up at school mother, and we came directly here, he's still wearing his school clothes. I've got other ones for him." He held out the hanger with the white polo shirt and black khaki's he'd chosen for Andrew.

"Hmpf, not a suit then?" she didn't look pleased.

"Mother, he's only five, really, I just didn't think it was necessary." He could feel the headache already starting.

"Well, pfft, it's too late now anyway. Mrs. Simpson, take the boy upstairs and help him dress." She waved her hand as if she was a queen directing her minions, which in a way she was.

"I can dress myself," Andrew replied indignantly.

Sabrina looked unconvinced.

"I'll go with him mother, he's…" Boone began.

"No, you're coming with me, we already have guests and you're late." Sabrina cut him off and started dragging him across the foyer in the direction of the living room.

He shot a bit of a panicked look over his shoulder and held out the backpack and hanger. Mrs. Simpson hurried forward to take them from his outstretched hand, then ushered Andrew upstairs and into Shannon's old room, staying with him and keeping him company while he changed his clothes.

Down in the living room, Boone had pulled out all the stops on his wealth of charm, hoping that it would appease his mother and keep her off his back. So far it seemed to be working. He'd only received two snide comments from her, each delivered in an aside. By the time he felt the small hand slip into his, he was only just praying that he wouldn't knock over a glass of wine at dinner, or spill something down his shirt front, instead of feeling like he wanted to throw up, like he usually did.

"Hey Buddy," he smiled down at Andrew. Mrs. Simpson must have combed the boy's hair; it was a little more tidy than usual. Boone ran his hand through it and settled it more into its' usual shaggy mop, Andrews bangs now falling across his forehead.

With his chick magnet firmly attached to his left hand, it wasn't long before most of the women in the room gravitated to them, though to call any of these women 'chicks' was a bit of a stretch. They all ooh'd and awww'd over the gorgeous pair, until Boone could feel Andrew becoming distracted, he pulled at Boone's hand a few times, then let it go and started wandering away from him.

'Where're you going?' Boone questioned the retreating back.

Andrew glanced over his shoulder at him, 'I want to talk to that man.' He nodded his head at an older man sitting on a love seat by himself.

'Don't be a nuisance.' Boone warned silently.

'Kay Boone.' He was already focused on his target.

As Boone continued circulating, Andrew came to a stop in front of the guy and waited to be noticed. When he looked up, Andrew spoke. "You're sad."

The man frowned, a bit puzzled, "No actually, I'm Frank." He replied in amusement.

"Yeah, and I'm Andrew, but you're sad about your daughter." He looked concerned.

Frank looked at him levelly, intrigued. Alicia had only just called him before they left for the party to tell her that she was filing for divorce. He scanned the room. No one could possibly be gossiping about it yet that this boy could have overheard it. By the time he looked back to where Andrew had been standing, the boy had already climbed onto the cushion beside him.

Boone glanced a few times over to where Andrew was chatting with the guy, the discussion seemed animated, but Boone knew that, while Andrew could charm the pants off anyone, not everybody wanted to be trapped in an extended conversation with a five year old.

After half an hour, he approached them. "Hey." They both looked up, and the man stood, holding out his hand.

"Frank Jackson." He introduced himself.

"Boone Carlyle." He responded, shaking the proffered hand.

"Yes, I know. Andrew pointed you out to me." He smiled.

"I hope he's not being a pest."

"No, no, not at all, in fact I think this is one of the best conversations I've had at a dinner party in ages." Frank assured him, sitting again, then watched while Boone's focus shifted to his son.

'Don't bother the guy too much okay?' Boone narrowed his eyes slightly.

Andrew shook his head almost imperceptibly, 'I'm not, he really means it, he's was sad earlier but not now.' Andrew had sensed something else about the man, but kept it to himself.

'Alright,' Boone raised his eyebrows a bit, 'be good, okay.'

'Kay Boone,' Andrew smiled in acknowledgement and nodded.

Frank watched the small facial movements of the man standing in front of him, and turned his head away, hiding a bit of a knowing smile.

Dinner was announced soon after, and people started filing out of the room. Boone hung back a little, waiting for Andrew; then boosted him onto his hip when he felt the tug at his jacket pocket, not wanting the boy to be jostled by the crowd, and also knowing that Andrew liked to be able to see what was going on. It was only a second before his mother was at his side.

"You'll wrinkle your jacket," she hissed into his ear, intending for him to put the boy down.

Boone closed his eyes briefly, and took a deep breath before responding, "Then I'll send it to the cleaners, mother."

She pinched her lips at his unsatisfactory answer and swept out of the room to accompany her guests.

They found their seats at the head of the table opposite Sabrina, and enjoyed the soup and salad. When the first of the main course plates were brought out, Boone did a bit of a double take at the offering.

Where the hell was the traditional turkey, he wondered?

"I heard that Joseph's favourite food was roast," Sabrina answered his question as she smiled and nodded at one of the guests, the sound of her voice from the other end of the table bringing Boone's head up. "So we're having Prime Rib of Kobe Beef instead of turkey, I hope no one minds."

Their servings were put in front of them.

'_I_ mind, Boone,' he felt Andrew tug at his pants pocket. 'I don't want to eat this.'

Boone stared in revulsion at the slab of rare beef that lay in front of him, oozing juices into his mashed potatoes. He felt the bile rise in this throat. 'Just eat the vegetables, don't make a scene.'

Hands reached between them and whisked away their plates; then a different set of hands deposited replacement dinners. They were now looking at far more appealing grilled salmon filets.

Boone looked over his shoulder, knowing who would be standing there, and quirked an eyebrow at Mrs. Simpson.

"So sorry gentlemen, bit of a mix up in the kitchen." She patted each of them on the shoulder.

"You'll get in trouble for this." Boone whispered. Feeling his mother's eyes on him, he raised his head to meet her glare.

The house keeper leaned down, "I stopped being frightened by your mother years ago. She knows no one else would ever take this job. Besides, it's better than the alternative," she added with a smirk before leaving the room. The last time Sabrina had forced the two of them to eat beef Andrew had thrown up in the middle of the front hall, then had wailed for Boone, who was simultaneously heaving his guts out in one of the downstairs bathrooms.

The woman beside Boone asked him about his meal, when he replied that they only ate fish and poultry she commented on how thoughtful his mother was in providing an alternative for them both. Boone just nodded, smiling falsely, letting her indulge in the fantasy that his mother actually gave a shit about what they did, or didn't eat.

When the last person was served they _all_ dug happily into their meals.

It was late by the time the coffee and tea were presented, and when they left the table to move back into the living room Boone excused himself briefly to take Andrew upstairs and tuck him sleepily into Shannon's old bed.

Returning downstairs, he endured a few circuits of the room, then let himself out of the patio doors, grabbing a glass of wine on the way through.

He flopped down into one of the outside chairs and tipped his head back to survey the stars.

The voice out of the darkness scared the hell out of him. "He's a remarkable boy."

"W..w..what?" Boone just about jumped out of his skin.

"He, uhm, he knew things that no one should have know." Frank lit a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face briefly, enough for Boone to identify him.

Boone, for some reason, didn't feel any threat from the man, though it was obvious from his words that somehow he'd caught on to Andrew's secret. There was no trace of the panic he'd been filled with when he'd mistakenly thought that Pamela had found out. "He's very," he groped for a word, "intuitive."

"Okay." He nodded. "Intuitive…I can live with that." He took a drag on the cigarette. "He gets that from you, I guess."

Boone considered his answer for a minute. "I'm a bit…intuitive," he continued their verbal dancing, wondering where it was leading, still unconcerned.

"Yeah, me too," Frank's casually delivered rejoinder surprised him, even more so when it was accompanied by slight pressure in his head.

As he met the pressure and pushed back, the other man's eyes widened some, and he drew a sharp intake of breath. "I'd say you're more than just a _bit_." He told Boone.

"I guess," Boone shrugged. "But it's pretty selective." He considered that the reason he was reacting so nonchalantly might be what the man had just admitted to. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, he'd somehow already been aware of it.

"Really?"

They talked a few minutes longer as Frank finished his smoke. When it was almost gone he threw his cigarette butt on the patio, and stepped on it.

"I'd better go in. It was a real pleasure to meet both of you. I hope our paths cross again." He held his hand out.

'So do I,' Boone rose and shook his hand, as he sent the words.

The man smiled in response, and Boone felt the slight pressure again, not pushing back this time. Frank looked at him for a minute, then the presence was gone as he crossed the flagstones and re-entered the house.

Boone sat back down and looked up at the stars again as he considered their brief exchange.

He stayed in the chair until the last of the lights had gone out in the house; then walked over to the pool. He shed his clothes, carefully draping them over a rung of the ladder to the water slide.

Knowing that he hadn't returned to the party and guessing where he might be, Sabrina watched from her bedroom window as he stood naked in the moonlight, then dove cleanly into the water.

She watched her previously almost perfect son, now scarred both mentally and physically by a love she'd tried to prevent, as he swam several lengths of the pool. Aware that he could be at it for an hour or more she turned sadly from the window and got ready for bed.


	19. Chapter 19

Even though it was Saturday, his mother had already left for the office by the time Boone woke up the next morning.

Sabrina had recovered from the momentary lapse of sentimentality that she'd experienced the night before, chalking it up to too much wine and the lateness of the hour. After a good nights' sleep, in the clarity of early morning, she'd reconsidered. The mess that she thought Boone had made of his life was entirely his own doing, or undoing more accurately she reasoned. She wasn't going to forget that again, or let _him_ forget it either.

He and Andrew had a leisurely breakfast with Mrs. Simpson, that he insisted on preparing himself, and then headed back home.

On their arrival, Heather informed him that the computer had been hit with a virus, so he spent the rest of Saturday dealing with that. Then on Sunday he had what seemed to be a million and one chores to attend to. After dealing with most of them, including cutting the lawn, trimming some bushes, and grocery shopping, it was late Sunday before he had a chance to call Pamela.

"Hey," he greeted her warmly.

"Boone," she said his name then squeezed her brows together, she'd been dreading this call.

He didn't like the sound of her voice, "I did something wrong, didn't I? What did I do?" He had no clue at all why she sounded so sad.

Pamela took a deep breath before continuing, "I need to see you."

"Okay. You want me to come over there?" This was sounding worse by the moment.

Pamela had considered meeting someplace neutral, like the coffee shop they frequented, but felt that her home turf would give her a bit of an advantage, and keep her from caving. "Please."

She watched from her apartment window as he parked the bike at the curb; then buzzed him up from the lobby. When she greeted him at the door he leaned in to give her a kiss, but she pulled away.

"Pamela?" Boone still held out the hope that her mood wasn't because of him, that maybe there was a family problem and she was just distracted.

Her next words dashed his optimism completely.

She crossed to her desk and turned her laptop around so the screen was in view. "This is you." She'd spent the last forty-eight hours alternatively fascinated and horrified as the details of his life scrolled up her display screen.

Boone moved closer so he could read the monitor. It was the results of a Google search on his name; he was surprised how many hits it had returned, "You Googled me? Why?"

"Well I guess it was because you sprung it on me that Sabrina Carlyle's your mother." She replied.

The sinking feeling in his stomach intensified. "Why should it matter who my mother is? I don't know who your mother is."

Pamela rolled her eyes, "Oh please Boone! My mother's a retired schoolteacher in Long Island; your mother's a well known, wealthy public figure. It's hardly the same."

He bit his lip, his face starting to crumple.

"And you're rich." She said it like it was an accusation. "I know you told me you're not a grounds keeper and handyman like I thought, but I still assumed you were a financially struggling single father, working two jobs and sharing accommodations with another couple to help make ends meet."

Two jobs?" Boone asked, still working to hold back the tears, the realization that she was breaking up with him hitting him hard.

"The car I've seen you drive, I thought you were a chauffeur on the side, but it's yours, isn't it?" She wanted to hold him so badly he looked so wounded, but she forced herself to stay strong in her resolve.

He nodded, suddenly unreasonably ashamed of his own car.

"And the store, you own it. There was an article in the local paper from when you bought it. Why did you tell me you just worked there?" She managed to keep her own tears at bay.

"Because I do, you asked me what I do and I told you the truth." Boone protested.

"Oh come on, I know you're not that stupid, or that literal, you knew very well what I meant." Pamela continued to berate him.

He put a hand to his face, his tears starting to fall.

"I saw some old magazine ads for did for your mothers' company, your sister certainly is pretty. You make a very convincing couple, but then I guess that only makes sense." She'd been struck immediately by the look of naked lust in his eyes as he'd posed with the haughty appearing, but undeniably beautiful blonde. A look that the girl had mirrored only in the shots where he wasn't looking directly at her, in all the other pictures she appeared cold and superior, almost a sneer on her face. Pamela realized that she was probably imagining most of this as she reviewed the print ads, applying her own biases based on her knowledge of the relationship as Boone had described it to her.

Boone fumbled behind himself, finding a chair. He sat on it, missing it slightly, only just managing not to fall to the floor on his butt.

"I read several accounts of the plane crash, and quite a bit about what you all went through on the island. Your friend Charlie certainly must like the sound of his own voice; most of the interviews were with him." Pamela hated how cruel she was sounding, but she was so hurt by it all that she couldn't keep a rein on it.

Boone raised his tear-stained face and shrugged, wondering why she was being so mean. This was hard enough to hear without her putting down his friends as well. "We needed a spokes person, and Charlie volunteered. Most of us didn't want to talk to the press at all, but we'd been warned that they were going to be there when the ship that rescued us docked. We all knew, of course, that we were going to have to put up with media attention. He was just…he was helping."

"Mmmmhmmm, right." Pamela looked at him appraisingly as she dropped the next bomb. "He said you died."

His eyes widened then narrowed again, as his brow furrowed, his thoughts turned inward and his head dropped.

"So did your friend Jack," she continued casually as he looked back at her again, misery etched on his face. "There was an interview with him in a physicians' journal. It was an article about the medical emergencies he'd been faced with and how he'd dealt with them in such primitive conditions with no supplies. I understand that your sister almost died too, after Andrew was born. He said it was a miracle you'd both pulled through. I'd certainly have to agree with him." She commented, "I mean, what else _can_ you call coming back from the dead, but a miracle?"

He just continued to cry, completely speechless.

"But the worst Boone, the thing I just can't possibly forgive, is the suicide attempts." She thought she was all cried out, but her bottom lip started trembling as the tears welled up in her eyes. At learning of his tries to kill himself, she'd wondered how he'd done it. Now as he glanced down at his covered wrists and pulled them protectively against his stomach, she knew.

He summoned his voice from somewhere and tried to explain how out of his mind he'd been. He knew Pamela had no way of knowing that Shannon had left him as alone mentally as she had physically.

"You have a son." She hissed, her love of children overwhelming her, "you selfish, thoughtless _bastard_." She approached him and almost spit the last word right him his face.

He flinched away from her fury.

"You would have left that dear sweet boy alone, you selfish prick," she backed away, her hands balled into fists. "His own mother abandoned him and you would have left him without his father too?"

"Pamela please, you don't understand." He stood, "God, it sickens me now to know what I did. I'd never consider it now, you have to know that, but _I_ have to live with it. I have to live with what I did. I've worked so hard to stop hating myself, to stop yearning to make the pain all stop with such a final and irreversible act." He pleaded with her to understand. "A permanent solution for a temporary problem, that's how I've come to view it. Please, I'm so much better now, please don't do this to me."

"To you?" she interrupted. "How did this become all about you? I though I loved you Boone! In spite of everything, all you told me, I still thought I loved you! This isn't about just you Boone, this is about me too, and what's good for me and, sadly, it's not you." She sobbed a few times. "I don't want to see you any more, please leave."

"Pamela, don't please don't. You don't know what it took for me to trust someone again, to let you in." Boone choked out.

_"Let me in?" _Pamela looked at him dumbfounded. "Boone you didn't _let_ me in. I pretty much had to break the door in with a crowbar, while you hid in a closet with a baseball bat, like a victim of a home invasion waiting for the police to answer your 911 call for help. And I'm betting there's even more things you've managed to keep hidden, even from the invasive nature of the internet." She was fishing now, and she knew it. The panicked look on Boone's face as he thought about the ESP, the abilities of the other survivors, and the extreme measures he'd had to resort to on the island just to help assure their continued survival, told her everything she needed to know.

She breathed a little laugh and shook her head in disappointment. "I see I'm right."

Pamela watched and waited as his eyes pleaded with her to reconsider. Then his expression changed to one of alarm and he bolted for the bathroom. She could hear him heaving, even as he cried.

The toiled flushed and some water ran, then silence.

She waited for five minutes for him to come out; then went to check on him.

He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, leaning against the tub, his eyes blankly staring at the floor tiles.

"Boone?" she said his name gently.

He raised his head; she could see how hard he was fighting the tears. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe he shouldn't ride in his current state. "You want me to call someone to come and get you?" She didn't want to see him again, but she certainly didn't wish any harm to come to him.

He hiccupped a few times, then the tears started again as he shook his head 'no', then levered himself to his feet.

When he reached her, he stopped for a minute just staring as he cried. "Goodbye," he walked slowly to the door and left, closing it carefully behind him.

She heard the roar as he started the bike and revved it as he pulled away, then a squeal of brakes and the extended blare of a car horn. She rushed to the window expecting to hear a crash any second, but it didn't come. There was a small yellow compact car still sitting beside the spot where he'd been parked, the drivers' hand thrust out the side window, middle finger extended. In his distracted state, with tears blurring his vision, he must have pulled out directly into the guys' path.

She looked the other way and saw his bike wobble a little as he turned the corner and roared away into the night and out of her life.


	20. Chapter 20

Boone somehow made it home safely and immediately headed up to his room, leaving Tom and Heather to deal with the aftermath of Andrews' reaction to the look on his face.

To say that the next few days didn't go well was putting it mildly.

They managed to keep the extremely upset boy downstairs through dinner, even getting some food into him.

Bedtime, however, found him outside Boone's locked bedroom door knocking futilely on the centre panel and calling his dads' name, refusing to be budged until he'd actually _seen_ Boone.

Tom used a skeleton key to spring the antique lock on the old door and gain access to Boone's private space.

The man was lying on the bed in the foetal position, his face puffy and his eyes red from the tears he'd run out of several hours earlier. He was staring blankly into space.

Andrew slept with Boone that night, each of them needing the comfort of the physical presence of the other.

Boone lay sleepless through the long hours of darkness, holding on tightly to his small five-year-old lifeline, thanking everything he could think of for the anchor snuggled against his chest that kept him firmly tethered to his life. He arose pale and shaky with the arrival of the morning.

Andrew absolutely refused to go to school on Monday and Boone was in no condition to fight with him about it.

He pieced himself together enough in the afternoon to phone the principal of the school and arrange, in a surprisingly coherent and calm manner, for Andrew's homeroom to be changed to grade two. He realized that it would be far too uncomfortable and awkward for all three parties if Andrew remained in Pamela's class.

The man was only too happy to comply, pleased that Mr. Carlyle had reconsidered his earlier decision from the beginning of the school year. Mr. Thompson had already gotten several reports from Miss Phillips that she was becoming concerned about Andrew. He'd already outstripped his classmates and she was having a hard time keeping him challenged.

He advised the boys' father that the change would be immediate and that the required paperwork would be ready for Boone to sign in the morning.

While still horribly concerned about his dad, Andrew was, none the less, excited about the news. He was already bonding more with the older kids in second grade.

Boone sat quietly up in his bedroom with Andrew for the balance of the day, propped up against the headboard on top of the neatly made bed, trying to put a brave face on in front of the boy but failing miserably. He was more successful in keeping his thoughts carefully shielded however and spent some time explaining that things just hadn't worked out and it wasn't anyone's fault, impressing upon him that he expected him to still be pleasant and respectful to Miss Phillips if he should see her.

Boone was silent through dinner, though he did manage a few forkfuls of food in deference to Andrews' watchful scrutiny, and he actually got a bit of sleep that night.

He dropped an only slightly protesting Andrew off at school, reminding him about his new homeroom, and reporting to the office to sign the waiting papers. Afterwards, dreading every minute as he covered the miles to his destination, he headed for his regular Tuesday therapy.

The session was a disaster. Boone broke down into tears within the first five minutes and threw up twice. After his hour was up, they put him in one of the small private rooms, set aside for just this purpose, and the doctor gave him a shot to calm him down. It was almost two hours later when, at his increasingly agitated insistence, they finally let him leave.

Heather was waiting for him at home, the doctors' assistant having called ahead and advised her of the situation. Boone had signed several waivers when he'd started with the guy, one of which permitted the notification of Tom and Heather of instances such as this.

Heather held him while he cried himself to sleep, emotional and physical exhaustion finally taking their toll, along with the residual effects of the injection. At three-thirty, she went to check on him. Finding him still blessedly out cold, she went to pick Andrew up after school herself.

Boone became increasingly withdrawn after that, thought he did muster up a bit of the old Boone, at least the one he'd been before the dating fiasco, and get into the holiday spirit over Christmas. There was about a week, during Andrews' first school holiday, where he actually had a bit of a smile on his face at times. But once the tree was down and New Years' had come and gone, he was, if anything even more subdued than before.

In early February, he quit therapy, deciding that there really wasn't anything more that he could get out of it. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he was going to spend the rest of his days alone, and was trying to come to terms with the aching emptiness of not having someone to love, at least not on a spousal level. The only women who could possibly understand him came from the impossibly small pool of his fellow Flight 815 survivor friends and were all taken. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice and try to connect with someone outside the group again. The mess with Pamela had proven to him that he had both too much baggage to try to explain _and_ too much baggage to try and conceal.

Shortly after Andrews' sixth birthday, Tom and Heather sat them both down and carefully broke the news that they were moving. Their daughter, April, had married late in life, and she, along with her husband and two teenaged children, was moving to Palm Springs. The Marshall's wanted to be close to their grand children for the few more years that the kids would spend at home before going off to college, and so, seeing as the new house had an in-law apartment, were going with them.

Neither Boone nor Andrew took the news well. Andrew cried inconsolably, they were the only family he'd ever known, and he felt like he was being abandoned all over again. After a few days, though, he came to accept it, and actually got a little excited, and reassured, over the prospect of going to visit them. Boone had always known in the back of his mind, that they would inevitably move on at some point, but they'd become so important to him, so much more like parents than the ones he'd never actually had, that he'd forgotten that he wasn't actually related to them.

Heather made Boone swear a solemn promise that he would go back to therapy, at least for a little while, in order to help him through the transition, and he grudgingly agreed.

They were gone by mid-July, so he decided to do the renovations to the upstairs of the house that he'd been contemplating for a while. He called Michael, who gladly agreed to come and arrange for the work and then stay on to supervise. Michael was only too happy at the chance to get out of L.A. for the summer. He arrived, with his art supplies and Walt, by the end of the week, and had a crew in ripping up the place just a few days later.

For the balance of the season, Boone headed off once a week to visit his old doctor, leaving Andrew under the watchful eye of Walt. The older boy was excellent with the kid, and they spent most of their time together down at the lake. Once Boone had assured himself that Walt was responsible enough to take the boat out, and after checking with Michael, he gave him full access to the craft, just reminding him that they both had to wear PFD's at all times. The two boys shook their heads and rolled their eyes at the typical parental caution, making Boone laugh when he realized what a dork he sounded like.

The work was wrapped up just before Labour Day, and the Dawson's packed up their stuff, including the few canvases of new paintings that Michael had finished during breaks in the reconstruction. Once they headed back to the city, Boone and Andrew were left alone to get used to their new, and suddenly very empty, home.

Once again Boone quit the therapy sessions, feeling that the two months' worth he'd just endured had met the requirements of the promise Heather had extracted from him. It was perhaps not the best time to do that, because now he faced another period of transition as Andrew went back to school. His thoughts turned to possibilities of other ways to fill his time.

He'd always loved cooking, and had easily picked up the slack on the baked goods for sale end of things when Heather left, so he decided to expand on that and had a small commercial kitchen added to the house. He researched restaurant equipment on the internet endlessly before proceeding though, in typical Boone fashion. And after making his carefully considered choices and having the equipment installed, he then spent hours pouring over the manuals for the industrial mixers and ovens. The new food preparation space seemed to suck him in like a vortex; he found himself gravitating to it more and more, to the point where he made the decision to hire an extremely competent empty nester to pretty much run the store, so he could devote more time to his new found distraction.

Joan proved to be a treasure, his ability to correctly assess people once again not letting him down. She smoothly took over, and even added Andrew to the payroll. She had him working on restocking the lower shelves and doing general clean up during his spare time as soon as she saw that he was a bit at loose ends when Boone disappeared into his new playroom.

Once word got out about the quality of his products, Boone found himself not just making things for sale in his own store, but filling orders for school bake sales, church bazaars and local social clubs. Christmases became an especially busy time for him, much to Andrews' chagrin however.

He also, somehow, found time to volunteer at Andrews' school. It started innocently enough; a notice came home with a permission slip for a class trip to the zoo; the facility was looking for parent volunteers to help chaperone the day trip. Thinking nothing of it, Boone checked the _yes_ box, signed the waiver and sent both documents back.

One of only two parents who positively responded, he found himself crammed into an extremely under-padded seat on a ubiquitous orange school bus with a mortified Andrew beside him. The boy couldn't believe that _his dad_ was actually coming on a field trip with his class; he wished that instead of ESP he had the ability to become invisible instead.

It actually went really well, and Boone couldn't have been cooler, in his understated taciturn way. The girls all loved him, including the teacher, and the boys all wanted to _be_ him. Andrew actually found himself jealous of his own father at one point before realizing, in his pseudo-adult way, how absolutely ridiculous that was. Once the teacher spread the word about the marvellous Mr. Carlyle, he became a regular addition any time there was a requirement for parental involvement in any activity.

Time passed in front of the mostly unengaged grey eyes, as he moved through it like an automaton, not allowing himself to experience too many highs or lows, thinking it safer that way, the mindless drudgery of his existence unceasing.

Shannon had a bit of a medical issue in the fourth year, and flew back to the States to have it taken care of, though the closest she could bring herself to come to him was New York. Filing the information they'd given her after the surgery away to be acted on at a later date if at all, she settled into a small studio apartment in Manhattan.

After her recovery, she found that even the space of an entire continent between them couldn't stop her from imagining herself back with him, not that it had really been any different when she'd lived half way around the globe. The fact that she went by several places they'd gone together when she visited him while he was in university didn't help.

She wasn't sure if it was the familiarity of the American culture, or something fundamentally different within her, but instead of picturing _him_ with _her_, the way she had for the past four plus years, she found herself homesick and imagining _herself_ back at home with _him_. Confused and wanting to put some perspective on things after almost a year in New York, she moved to Rio.

As the weeks turned into months, and the months into almost a full year, she came to realize that her visceral longing, her _need_ for him had had nothing to do with New York at all, but _everything_ to do with the fact that, fundamentally, she belonged with him, forever and for always.

Finally giving into the inevitable she packed her things for a final time and boarded a plane.

They were in the back yard, throwing the ball back and forth; it was early evening. Boone smiled at his son as he caught the ball and tossed it back. A movement at the back gate caught his attention. He looked over, the ball that Andrew threw catching him fully in the chest. He didn't even notice; she was standing on the grass just inside the gate, staring at the two of them. 'Shan, oh my dear god, Shan,' he thought.


End file.
